


Carousel of Kings

by kissedbydragonfire



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst, Basically if the Time Team lived in a world like Westeros, But will they all stay dead?, Drama, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Flynn is a dumpster fire at the beginning, Jealousy, Major character death - Freeform, Mutual Pining, Not a Crossover, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prophecy, Sex, Suicidal Thoughts, Timeless/Game of Thrones AU, Violence, Worldbuilding, You don't need to know Game of Thrones to understand this, backstabbing, garcy, idiots to lovers, magical beasts, no one is safe, ultra-slow burn, war and battles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2019-12-30 05:09:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 40
Words: 172,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18308825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissedbydragonfire/pseuds/kissedbydragonfire
Summary: The Timeless/Game of Thrones AU no one asked for, but I had to do.  NOT a crossover. You don't need to know Game of Thrones to understand this. Basically, a medieval("ish") world where magic and mythical beasts exist. Families vie for control of the continent and the throne.





	1. The Ride Begins

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mathgirl24](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mathgirl24/gifts).



> I had to get creative here with some of the family ties, but they're still the characters you know and love. (For instance, Denise is Jiya's mother, and I chose the name House Marri for them, so she'll be referred to as Lady Denise Marri, but she's still our bunker mom).  
> If you are a Game of Thrones fan, I hope you appreciate the little nods I have included to the show.  
> I have been working on it for quite some time, so updates should be regular.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy begins a life changing journey. Flynn begins preparations for war.

Lucy jolts awake, a whispery voice calling her name. 

“Lucy.”

Extinguishing the light of the last candle long ago, it is completely dark in her bedchambers.  Slivers of silver moonlight creep through the closed shutters.  The hour of the wolf, which is apropos, given one is howling off in the distance.

“Lucy.”

She scans around the room frantically, but cannot see anyone. 

“Hello?  Who’s there?” Lucy asks.

“Lucy.”

Scrambling to ignite one of the candles by her bedside, she breathes in heavily.  The air is frosty, making her breath visible.  Cautiously, she peers around her room and sees something red and wet on the floor: a bloody paw print that is _much_ larger than any of the dogs on the castle grounds.  She dons her dressing gown, slowly opens her door, and makes her way down the corridor.  Following the trail of prints for a while, they eventually lead her towards the castle courtyard.  Then, she sees it: a white wolf.  She freezes in place, too afraid to move.  The wolf stares back at her, before it discharges a bellowing howl.  Panicking, she lets the candle fall from her hand.  The wolf suddenly lunges at her, as she slams her eyes shut and screams.

When she opens her eyes, she’s back in her bed.  Sweat glistens on her body.  Panicking, she frantically sits up and checks herself for visible injuries.  It was only a nightmare.  She is safe, at home in Rittenfell, ancestral home of House Preston for the last two hundred or so years, and the home of the Kings of Ritten for a thousand years before that.  She was born here, and has lived here her entire life.  But, this will be the last night she ever spends here.  Today, she is leaving for King’s Keep, the capital city, to join her parents. 

Anticipating the news for some time now, she is beyond excitable that her parents have made a match for her, _finally_.  She thought it might never happen, considering most other maidens were wed by her age.  Her mother insists that Lucy is too important to just marry off to any lord.  Her mother hints, not so subtlety either, that she is trying to arrange a marriage with Prince Noah.  Lucy would be a princess, and her son would be king someday, even though power and influence have never been what she craves.  She just wants to marry a man she loves, have children with him and live a good life.  Perhaps, she was finally on a path to accomplish that dream. 

She would miss her life here in Rittenfell, but she would miss her sister, Amy, most of all.  Finding a new found independence out of the shadow of her parents during the last few years here, she has bittersweet feelings about leaving.  Her father, Sir Benjamin Preston, Hand of the King for over three years now, lives in the capital with her mother.  The only downside to that development was that in her parents’ absence, her uncle, Nicholas, is acting Lord of Rittenfell.  He is cruel and controlling on a level that makes her parents look like innocent newborn babies.  She worries about leaving Amy in an environment like that to fend for herself.  Yet, Lucy has confidence that her sister will be alright.  Amy is a wild child, while she obeys her parents’ wishes. 

She has the servants pack a few of her favorite dresses, as well as a few of her favorite books.  Once she is married, they will send the rest of her things to the capital.  She has never been to King’s Keep.  She has never really been outside The Glen, the area that her family rules.  The Glen is lush and green, with rolling slopes, high peaks and valleys, lakes and creeks, and vast, desolate moors.  It is the second largest in area; only The Tundra to the north is larger.  The Glen is located in the central part of the continent, and is bisected by the River Keynes.  Rittenfell, the ancestral seat of House Preston, lies north of the River Keynes in the northeastern section of The Glen.  The castle was originally named Castle Ritten.  Occupying and renaming the castle after the coup, it has been the home of House Preston ever since.  It is the oldest castle in the realm, and has had additions over the centuries.  The oldest parts are the circular stone keep, with its thick limestone walls and turrets, the bailey that surrounds it, and the crypts beneath.  Rumor has it that this section of the castle predates the Ritten Kings, only adding onto the structure when they first began inhabiting it.  Lucy never likes being in the old tower of the keep or the crypts.  Both make her skin crawl and give her an eerie feeling.

For some strange reason, she feels a compulsion to visit the crypts one last time before she departs.  She pays her respects to her grandfather, Ethan’s tomb, and afterward inexplicably finds herself descending deeper into the depths of the crypts, until she stops at the tomb of her namesake. 

The first Lucy of House Preston was a controversial figure to say the least.  Your opinion of her depends on your loyalties.  Many people consider her a great hero, others a traitor and a kin-slayer.  Lucy falls into the former camp.  She sees her as a brave woman, choosing to do what is best for the people of this land and fighting against tyranny.  She is proud to be named after her, although in Lucy’s mind, she is not quite worthy of such an honor.  She will never be able to live up to her legacy. 

The part of the crypt where her namesake is buried is in partial collapse, so Lucy never lingers long when she comes to visit.  There are times she comes there and talks to her ancestor.  She always feels better when she leaves.  Even if Lucy is well aware of the fact she is talking to no one at all, she always leaves with a renewal of confidence.  Perhaps it is because Lady Lucy couldn’t judge her innermost thoughts and feelings as living people did.  She's a sounding board for the confliction in her soul.  She will miss this too.  She places her hand on the tomb.  “Goodbye for now.  It has always been my greatest honor to be your namesake, and I hope and pray I will be able to live up to its legacy someday.”

She exits the crypts, and continues her final preparations for the long journey ahead.  Lucy feels a twinge of disappointment that they aren’t taking the long way to the capital, so she would be able to see more of the world.  But, her mother wouldn’t allow it.  She is to ride south from Rittenfell, along the Old King’s Road, and board a boat on the River Keynes.  From there she will sail east until she reaches the Sea of Cahill, where she will need to board another boat capable of sailing the open seas.  From there her journey will continue on to King’s Keep.  Too many boat rides for her taste, give her a horse any day. 

Lucy says her goodbyes to the servants and her uncle Nicholas, who seems glad to be rid of her.  Amy is the last to come upon her in the courtyard.  The sisters embrace in a tight bear hug, both in tears at this point, until Lucy forces herself to pull back and climb into the carriage. 

As the carriage rolls down the Old King’s Road, Lucy glances back at her childhood home, and openly wonders if she will ever see it again.  The green and purple banners of House Preston sway in the breeze, as the misty moors loom larger and larger, until the castle is out of sight.  Lucy is finally venturing out into the wild, leaving the safety of her ancestral home.  In another sense, the freedom she usually enjoys, (for the most part) will now be tamed.  She will have the expectations to be a good wife, give her husband sons, and attend to the other royal ladies of the court.  Life as she knows it will never be the same.

The boat ride down the Keynes is not exactly a pleasure cruise.  It has begun to rain, and the boat constantly thumps and makes her nauseous. 

A short while later, the captain informs her that they are officially entering The Watershed.  The Watershed is an area to the east of The Glen, and derives its name from the network of rivers, streams, waterfalls and lakes, which form the headwaters of the River Keynes and the mouth of the Sea of Cahill.  It has small mountains and forested areas, but mainly consists of low lying marshes and farmlands.  Fishing villages and ports of call for larger ships dot its coastal areas.  Lucy inquires of the captain if they will pass by The Bunker on their journey, but he tells her the ancestral seat of House Neville is too far to the north.  She feels a slight disappointment, as she has heard tales of it since she was a young girl.  All she knows is that the castle had been built directly into the side of the coastal ridge, was constructed of gray stone and had a circular appearance.  Everyone always says it’s an architectural marvel, but one needs to see it to completely understand.

At last they reach the river’s end, and Lucy is thankful that the rain appears to have stopped.  She will need to board a larger boat here, in order to continue her journey to the capital.  She has a few hours before the second ship sets sail, so she decides she’ll grab a bite to eat at the inn. 

The small town of Cahilla sprang up out of necessity.  It’s where the River Keynes meets the Sea of Cahill, and goods and merchandise regularly pass from the sea to the river at this juncture.  Large sea-going vessels dock here due to its deep ports.  The smaller river vessels, like the one Lucy had just been on, are used to disperse the goods and cargo across the realm. 

Above the port sits the town of Cahilla proper, a collection of brightly colored square-shaped houses, inns, taverns, brothels and stores.  It is the literal epitome of a crossroad of many different peoples. 

Lucy takes it all in, from the salty sea air, to the fiery smoke of the blacksmith’s forge.  She considers herself to be well-read and educated, especially for a woman in this age, but she lacks real-life experience with peoples of different cultures and classes.  If only her mother could see her now, as she walks amongst the fishmongers, butchers and blacksmiths. 

Lucy is a curious woman.  She always had been.  The best part of her little excursion is that no one knows her.  There is no bowing or curtsying going on, no one showing deference to her.  She is just another traveler. 

The air is still damp from the early morning rain, causing Lucy to tug on her green hooded cloak and pull it closer to her face.  She travels from the port to the village, with only one guard to detract attention from herself.  In need of some decent food, she makes her way through the winding streets to an inn that overlooks the port below.  She hopes that the warm bread will ease the chill in her bones. 

Lucy passively listens to a few of the conversations going on around her, as curiosity begins to get the better of her.  Cahilla is certainly colorful; a mixture of lower class and merchant class.  After she finishes her ale and pot pie, Lucy has the distinct feeling that someone is watching her. 

Glancing around the room, she comes upon a man in the corner, talking in a hushed tone with an older woman.  The man is in a hooded cloak, and all she can see are his eyes.  She’s pretty sure they’re green.  His face is hidden from her, but she’s able to make out the black riveted gambeson he wears.  She comes to the conclusion that he must be some sort of mercenary or sell-sword.  She cannot help but stare at him.  Their eyes meet, and he sits back in his chair and recedes into the darkness.

“Lady Lucy, we really must be going now,” her guard states.

Her guard pays the tavern girl, as she puts her hood back up and prepares to leave.  She glances furtively back to the corner, but the table is now empty.  She leaves the inn, and continues her walk back to the ship.  She feels as if someone has been watching the entire time, and relief washes over her when the ship finally leaves port. 

The second boat ride of the journey is slightly less nauseating, and Lucy is thankful of the sun deciding to make an appearance.  Standing on the upper deck of the ship, viewing the coastline for the first time in her life, Lucy happily muses at her constantly changing surroundings.

Later in the afternoon, Lucy’s able to spot land.  She finds it confusing, because she thought it would take all night to sail to the capital.

“Is that The Shoals?” Lucy asks the captain.

“No, my lady.  That is Scarlet Isle, one of the Burgundy Isles.  We will sail around the island during the night, and pass between it and Garnet Isle in the morning.  It’s the safest route to the capital.  Passing between the coastline of Cahilla and Scarlet Isle is treacherous.  Many ships have been lost over the years.  This way is longer, but we should arrive in King’s Keep shortly thereafter,” the captain responds.

Although she has never been out of The Glen for long periods, Lucy has seen some of the continent before, (not much though) and is well acquainted with its geography.  But, the Burgundy Isles were rarely ever talked about.  Most of her knowledge about them came from books.  Finding her journey exhausting at this point, she bids the captain good night, and goes below deck to her cabin.  The gentle rocking of the boat is a welcoming comfort, as she sleeps that night. 

When she wakes the next morning, Lucy is stiff.  Her traveling clothes aren’t exactly uncomfortable per se, but sleeping in a corset is the absolute worst.  She makes sure she is presentable, and then strolls up to the deck. 

The sun is bright, and a light breeze whispers on the wind.  Sea gulls squawk in the foreground, as the capital appears on the horizon.  The city is large and sprawling, with high stone walls surrounding it.  Looming above the city, stands the castle of King’s Keep, with its ivory-colored cylindrical and rectangular towers.  There are huge trilithons lining a stone walkway leading down from the castle to the garden overlook.  As the ship begins pulling closer to the city, Lucy can see the red tiled roofs and white walls of the city’s homes, some with a smattering of blue trim around them.  She finds herself bubbling with excitement and anxiety.  The city is magnificent and bursting with life.  This is going to take some getting used to.  Her life in The Glen is calm and quiet, but King’s Keep is noisy and busy. 

After disembarking the boat, Lucy and her guards are met by House Preston’s constable and numerous attendants. 

“Lady Lucy, welcome.  Your litter awaits you,” the constable says.

 _A litter, great.  Do these people have some kind of aversion to horses?_ Lucy does _not_ want to be carried like some helpless invalid.  Seeing she does not appear to have any choice in the matter, she climbs into the litter.  Her guards carry her through the winding city streets, until they reach the inside of the castle gate.  As she exits the litter, she hopes to catch a glimpse of her future husband.  Her hopes are slightly dashed when she sees only her parents there to greet her.  It has been two years since she has seen her mother, and three years for her father. 

“Lucy,” her mother beams, as she pulls her into a hug.

“Mom.  I missed you,” Lucy replies.

Her father stands there stoically, waiting for his turn.

“Father,” Lucy says, as she hugs him.

Her father kisses her forehead gently in response.

“Come.  Surely you must be tired after your long journey,” her mother states, as she puts her arm around her, “and we must find you something more elegant to wear than those unfortunate rags.”

 _Nice to see you too, Mom_.  Her mother, Carol, embraces her marriage into House Preston, and thoroughly enjoys the perks that come with it.  Lucy, is more of a practical woman, and does not care at all about silk dresses and golden jewels.  At times, she feels as if maybe her mother is unaware she is her own, real-life person, and not a doll to dress and pose. 

They enter the Tower of the Hand, where her family now live; where she will now live, at least until she is wed.  After climbing the stairs that Lucy fears will never end, they come to a spacious courtyard.  On the right, white marble archways lead to a balcony overlooking the Sea of Cahill.  The view is breathtaking.  To the left, are the formal dining area and parlor, and upstairs are the sleeping quarters.  Her father’s office is tucked in a corner off of the parlor.  _No wonder mother likes it here.  It is all so much more glorious than anything they have back home.  Even the weather is better here._

“Lucy, you really must get some rest.  We’re going to be supping with the king and prince tomorrow.  You must look your best.  Do you understand?” her mother questions.

Lucy nods.  Right now, she really just wants to take this awful corset off, and go to sleep in a nice, comfy bed.

“Cahilla? You can’t go to Cahilla, Your Grace.  What if someone recognizes you?” Sir Connor asks.

“We need allies and weapons,” Flynn replies.

“But Cahilla?  That’s in enemy territory,” Sir Connor complains.

“You _think_ I don’t know that?  Would you rather I stroll into the capital, and walk up to the first blacksmith I see and order enough swords and armor to fill a cart?” he snaps.

“You can get swords and armor in Gallantos.  You don’t need to go to Cahilla for that.  Plus, it’s also a known pirate haven.  Not exactly the kind of place a high-born lady goes to visit.  You sure this isn’t a trap?” Connor queries.

“Of course not.  That’s why I’m bringing Karl.  The steel is better in Ritten, that’s why I need to go to Cahilla.  As for the lady….what better place to have a meeting than where no one expects you to ever go?” Flynn answers.

“Your Grace, I urge you to reconsider.  Let me and my son go in your stead.  No one knows us here,” Connor pleads.

“Exactly.  The lady doesn’t know you and will never meet with you, let alone make an alliance with you, even if you tell her it is on my behalf.  I have not seen her in ten years.  I’m sure she wants to get the measure of me before she commits any men to our cause,” Flynn responds.

“Well, do be careful Your Grace.  This invasion is doomed to fail if you are caught,” Connor cautions.

Flynn just shakes his head.  Sometimes, Sir Connor is worse than his mother.  Of course he knows it is dangerous, but it is a chance he has to take if he is ever going to avenge his family and take the throne.  He has waited a long time, ten years in fact, and has planned every move in inordinate detail, along with contingencies in case something goes wrong.  It's time.  He is ready.  Karl, the captain of his guard, will accompany him to the meeting.  If there is anyone Flynn truly trusts, it is Karl.  They’d met over two years ago, fighting for a company of mercenaries in Gallantos.  His mother had just died, and he was searching for purpose when he joined the company.  Karl and he have been through enough fights, and have had each other’s back since their first battle together.  They both wear their black riveted gambesons, and will appear to be common mercenaries if anyone glances in their direction.  He doesn’t want to wear any other armor or protection, much to Sir Connor’s dismay, as that would most likely attract attention to them instead, and there is no reason to be so heavily armed in the port town. 

Flynn and Karl take one of the ships they have brought with them from Gallantos.  The cog is a single-masted vessel, with high sides and a flat bottom, which makes it easy to load and unload cargo, their main purpose for this trip in the first place.  They bring a dozen additional men with them to sail the vessel, and it is not lost on him that a dozen or so mercenaries together is par for the course.  Two sailing a vessel by themselves, however, will get them noticed in no time flat. 

Pulling into the port of Cahilla, Flynn is reminiscent of the last time was there.  It feels like another lifetime ago.  It more or less was.  He was a young man then, unmarried and most likely getting into some sort of trouble. 

They dock their boat, and make their way through the maze of stalls of the lower market.  Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, Flynn and Karl stop at a few stalls along their way, as they constantly scan the crowd for potential enemies.  It is during one of these reconnaissance sweeps, that he sees her.  He literally stops dead in his tracks.  She is so beautiful, he forgets how to breathe momentarily.  She looks vaguely familiar, yet he is unable to place her face.  Her skin is as pale as moonlight, and the blush in her cheeks from the chilly air accentuates her porcelain skin.  Even though she is wearing a plain black dress and hooded green cloak, he can tell she is a high-born woman by the way she carries herself.  This fact is indeed confirmed, when he notices the armed man who seems to be accompanying her through the market.  Commoners do _not_ have armed escorts.  She must be someone important, though her appearance and clothes give no indication what house she belongs to.  Flynn feels that it is a little strange.  Even when high-born persons travel, there is normally something he is able to pick up to clue him in: a ring, an engraving, their armor.  The soldier in him kicks in, and he begins to wonder if she is purposely trying to hide her identity.  Is she involved in some type of plot?  Is she here to spy on him?  Karl senses something as well, as he reaches for his sword, and maintains a firm grip on the pommel. 

“What is it?” Karl asks.

“Not sure.  Does that woman look out of place to you?” Flynn questions.

Karl eyes the woman up and down, and turns back to Flynn, “Not particularly.  Come on.  We’ve got work to do.”

They turn down an alley, and make their way to a blacksmith’s stall towards the end of the row.  Flynn lets Karl take the lead, as he placed the order with the blacksmith in the first place.  Once the transportation arrangements have been made for the swords and armor, Flynn and Karl make their way up into the town.  They prearranged their meeting at the inn closest to the port, just in case they need to make a fast getaway.  They enter the inn, and find a table towards the back, where it is darkest.  Karl hangs back, leaving Flynn alone at the table.  He is nervous.  A great deal depends on this meeting, and he isn’t exactly a warm and fuzzy person.  He is battle-hardened and jaded, but less of a broken person than he was even five years ago.  Never in his life has he ever had a desire to be king, but he had made a promise to his mother on her death bed that he would avenge their family.

Just then a woman appears at his table, and takes the chair opposite him.  She removes the hood from her brown cloak, as a tavern girl brings two steins of ale to the table.  She is not alone, her guard standing a few feet behind her, trying to blend in with the other patrons of the inn.  Both eye each other tentatively.

“Lady Marri,” Flynn says with a smile, “It’s been a long time.”

“It has indeed, Your Grace,” the woman replies in an almost whisper, as she bows her head slightly. 

“I was sorry to hear about your husband.  Sir Ian was a good man,” Flynn states.

“Thank you.  Now, if we’re finished with the pleasantries, why am I here?” the woman asks.

“I want to know if you will honor your commitment to my house, my lady,” he explains.

“No, you want to know if I will commit my men to fight for you.  I have not seen you in over ten years.  No offense, Your Grace, but I don’t really know you.  For all I know, I would be trading one tyrant for another.  And who else is fighting in this army you’re assembling?” she inquires.

“I understand your apprehension, my lady.  You knew my mother well, did you not?” he asks.

“I did.  Queen Maria was an amazing woman.  It was out my respect for her that I even agreed to take this meeting,” she answers.

“And I swear to you on my mother’s memory, that I am not a tyrant.  I may not have been born to rule, but I was born to fight.  I will avenge my family, with or without your help.  I would prefer with it, but….”

“Who else is in this army?” she questions again.

“Ten thousand of my own sell-sword company, ten thousand of my bannermen, and five thousand men from House Bruhl,” he replies, as he stares directly into her eyes with as much conviction as he can muster.

The older woman sits back in her chair contemplating her options.  It is then that his eye flickers to the opposite corner of the inn.  It’s her, the same woman he spied in the market.  She is sitting at a table with the same armed man from earlier, and they appear to be sharing a meal.  _Is she following me?_   He doesn’t think so.  He has been more than vigilant about checking his surroundings during this entire ordeal.  But he did not notice her when he sat down, nor did he notice her entering the inn.  Then, her eyes meet his and lock for a moment, before he sits back in his chair and into the shadows of the inn.

“I will commit my men to your cause,” Lady Marri declares.

“Thank you, my lady,” Flynn responds.

“Denise, Your Grace.  No need for such formalities in private,” she states.

He nods his head, and they shake hands to seal their agreement.  Lady Marri pulls her cloak hood back up and stands. 

“Oh, one more thing.  This is for you,” she says, as she hands him a sealed scroll.  “I would take heed if I were you.  My daughter has the sight, and she asks that I give this to you.”

He takes the scroll reluctantly from her hand.  She turns and disappears into the crowd with her guard in tow.  Tucking the scroll into his pocket, he stands and stealthily exits the inn.  Karl and he make their way back to their ship.  The shipment of arms has already been stowed, and they prepare to set sail. 

Flynn goes into the cabin and sits at the desk.  He has never been one to believe in prophecy, visions or dreams.  But this scroll didn’t come from just anyone.  Lady Denise Marri has always been an honest, loyal woman.  He is also not ignorant to the fact that the women of House Marri have a reputation as seers, and that Lady Denise does not come across as a woman who believes in nonsense.  He reaches into his pocket, and pulls out the scroll.  Laying it on his desk, he peers down at the parchment.

_**Blood is spilled in your quest for the throne,** _

_**Three betrayals against you shall be sown,** _

_**One for blood, the other for clout,** _

_**Love is the third from which it will sprout.** _

_**A shadow’s double upon you looms,** _

_**And brazen goals could spell your doom**._

_Could it be any more cryptic?_   He rolls up the scroll, and puts it back in his pocket.  He wouldn’t ignore it exactly, but he wasn’t going to lose any sleep over some prophecy that most likely would never come to fruition.  After all, he had a war to start.

 


	2. Hardstone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flynn’s invasion begins, but cause memories of the past to haunt him. Lucy meets her future husband.

Flynn stands on the top deck of the ship, staring at his family’s ancestral home across the bay.  It has been ten years since he was here, and his last moments on this island were the worst of his life.  He shudders at the memories of his wife and five-year old daughter.  _I should’ve been there to protect them._  

Hardstone is located on the Isle of Burgundy, the largest of the three Burgundy Isles, which lie southeast of The Shoals and east of The Dunes.  Scarlet Isle and Garnet Isle are both smaller islands to the north, and are completely surrounded by the Sea of Cahill.  The Isle of Burgundy, however, borders Sandbank Bay to the west, making it ideal as a trading spot between the two continents.   

This will be the hardest day of this entire campaign.  He knows it, and has prepared himself as best he can.  It isn’t the killing that bothers him, (these _are_ House Neville men, after all).  They had endeavored to wipe his entire family from the face of the earth, and had almost achieved that goal.  The goal that he had helped them accomplish by his own failures.  House Neville and their allies had just assumed he would be exiled to the other side of the world, and die in some fighting pit, mercenary war or a gutter.  They’re assuming they’ve won.  But, Flynn is certain of one thing: revenge is a dish best served cold.

The boats land on the rocky island beaches, in strategically planned areas across the entirety of the island.  The assault begins, as Flynn leads his men, with Karl flanking his side, as they storm the beach.  This will not be easy.  Hardstone is a large, stone castle with natural defenses of palisades, high curtain walls, and colossal bluffs that drop precipitously into the raging sea below.  Unlike King’s Keep, it is specifically designed as a defensive fortification.  Their only saving grace, is that House Neville woefully undermans the castle, and they have the superior numbers by far.  He is armed to the teeth, protected by his hauberk and gambeson over top, greaves over his shins, and gauntlets to protect his arms.  He slashes and hacks his way toward the palisade.  He has never enjoyed killing, but he will never deny he is _very_ good at it. 

Once they pass the palisade, they battle their way to the curtain wall.  He fights like a man under possession.  He will take this castle or die trying.  The second part of his army that landed on the other side of the island, suddenly appears behind the men defending the curtain wall.  Outnumbering them four to one, they don’t last long.  Flynn and his men have cleared another hurdle.  Passed the curtain wall, are the ramparts and then the southern bastion.  If they can get through there, the castle will be won. 

Bloody and bruised, Flynn charges ahead like a raging bull.  The rage that has been festering in him for the last ten years unleashes.  Any one of these men could have murdered his wife and daughter.  _Any one of them_.  Using his shield as a battering ram, he cuts through men like a butcher carves a carcass.  Through the southern bastion his men pour, leaving only the castle proper for them to conquer. 

Sometime later, they manage to breach the castle walls.  Not long after, the castle is taken.  They cut the banners of House Neville to the ground, and the black and burgundy banners of House Flynn proudly fly in their place.  He did it.  He is home, yet the feeling is bittersweet. 

  ** _King’s Keep-10 Years Ago_**

The Council of Masters gathers to discuss the growing problem of several rebellions throughout the kingdom.  Abraham of House Bruhl, Hand of the King, sits at the head of the table, and is flanked on either side by Henry of House Whitmore, Master of War; Sir Benjamin of House Preston, Master of Coin; and Jake of House Neville, Master of Whispers.  The doors of the chamber open with a loud bang, and the men rise to their feet in haste.

“All hail Asher of House Flynn, First of His Name, King of Ritten and Protector of the Realm,” a page yells.

The king takes his seat at the opposite end of the table, and the other men remain standing until the king nods with his head and they retake their seats.  Following the king, are his armored bodyguards.  The king is screaming at his Masters and Hand, raging about the constant insurrections.  He is noticeably drunk, as he has been for the majority of his reign, and continues to come up with more inventive ways to subject and brutalize his people. 

Suddenly, Lord Neville rises from his seat, draws a dagger from his belt, and plunges it into the king’s chest.  Lord Preston, Lord Whitmore and Lord Bruhl rise in horror at what they are witnessing.  Before he knows what’s happening, Lord Bruhl feels the blade at his throat, as Sir Benjamin Preston slices it.  The king’s bodyguards draw their swords and come at the three men, but are quickly dispatched.  The king and his mens’ bodies lie where they fall, and the room becomes silent once more.

Flynn is just returning from quelling one of the uprisings in The Shoals.  He has been the leader of the king’s army for a while now, even though he is still a young man.  As the second son, the spare heir, he is taught to fight, while his older brother, Gabriel, is taught to rule.  It is the way things are done and have always been.  The first born male inherits everything.  It is probably best this way.  He is a much better fighter than his brother, and his brother is a better politician than he would ever be.  They call him “The Black Blade” due to his prowess with weapons, his hair color, and his affinity for the color of his house.  But most of his reputation had come long before he ever married and became a father.  Having a family of his own changed him in ways he never thought possible.  He misses his wife and daughter.  It has been three months since he last saw them.  All he wants, is to end the uprisings and go back home to his family. 

His family does not reside in the capital.  The royal apartments are for the king, queen and their children.  Since his brother is the heir to the throne, he resides in the royal apartments with his wife and two young boys.  Flynn lives with his wife and daughter at their ancestral seat of Hardstone, as Lord of the Burgundy Isles.  His relationship with his father is tenuous at best, but he loves his mother with all his heart.  She is a kind and gentle woman.  His relationship with his brother is cordial, but they are not as close as most brothers.  The age gap between them was definitely an impediment to closeness growing up. 

As Flynn hands his horse off to the stable boy, he hears the bells tolling from the castle tower.  The sound of swords clashing against each other, and screams echo down from the keep.  Clad in full plate armor, he races up to the castle, sword drawn and ready.  It is utter chaos, and he has no idea what is happening.  He stops one of his fellow soldiers, and they inform him the king is dead, killed by members of his council. 

Panic spreads across his face.  He dashes up the tower stairs to the royal apartments, only to find his brother, Gabriel, dead in front of his apartment door.  Flynn goes into the apartment, and his heart falls at the sight he beholds.  In the middle of the room, he sees his sister-by-law, Sara, in a pool of her own blood, her dress ripped and torn.  Behind her on the bed are the bodies of his two nephews, Samuel and Seth.  They were ten and eight years old.  He hears men coming up the tower stairs, and rushes into the next room, searching from apartment to apartment, looking for his mother.  Finally, he comes upon her, hiding in one of the servant’s quarters with two of her guards.  _At least he did not fail her_. 

They need to get out of the castle.  They make their way down to the kitchens, and finally the root cellar, where a hidden passage leads from the castle to the sea.  Flynn and his mother board the small boat, and make there way out to sea in the growing darkness.  His family consumes his thoughts, his wife and daughter most of all.  If he can get home fast enough, he may yet be able to save them.  He looks at his mother.  His poor mother.  She is weeping uncontrollably, and he cannot blame her.  She just lost her husband, her first-born son, her grandsons and her daughter-by-law.  She clings to him, as the ship sails closer to their home.  He understands.  He is all she has left at the moment. 

As the Isle of Burgundy appears on the horizon, Flynn feels his heart pounding in his chest.  _Please let me get to them in time.  Please._ He looks at his mother once more, before turning to board the longboat.  He grips up one of his men, and pulls him in closer.  “If I’m not back by morning, you need to set sail for Gallantos.  The Queen will try to delay your departure, but you must leave!  That is a direct order.  Do you understand?” he shouts.

The soldier nods his head, and Flynn climbs down the ladder to the longboat below.  He knows if the castle has already been taken, there is a distinct possibility that he will die tonight.  Part of him hopes he will, especially if his family has already been ushered into the afterlife.  He only takes one man with him.  He needs stealth on this mission.  If everything is alright, it won’t matter, but if not…

They row as quietly as possible into a small cove, and make their way up the side of a small cliff.  They need to clear the curtain wall without being seen, which is not going to be easy.  The castle is eerily quiet, and he notices that he cannot see the guards at their posts on the wall.  _Something is definitely wrong.  He needs to find his family.  Please let them be alright._   Furtively, he sneaks over the wall, his companion following suit.  He sees a guard standing on the ramparts above them.  The guard turns, and he gets a better view of his armor and his heart sinks.  He can see an owl engraved on the guard’s gorget, and instantly knows that it’s House Whitmore.  He crouches under the rampart, and launches his dagger as the guard makes another turn, striking him directly in the throat and causing him to fall over the edge. 

He climbs to the top of the rampart, and makes his way to the bastion.  He reaches the battlement to have another quick look around.  There’s a distinct possibility that they’re holding his family hostage, and he needs to have some sort of plan.  He cautiously peers out one of the arrowslits into the courtyard below.  There are soldiers carrying bodies, piling them on a makeshift pyre.  Nothing in this world could prepare him for the next two bodies he sees.  His knees buckle, and can no longer support his weight.  How he does not scream out in agony is beyond all comprehension.  His beautiful wife, Lorena, and his adorable five-year old daughter, Iris.  _He is too late._   _He failed them_.  An unquenchable rage detonates in his chest.  _He will kill each and every one of them: every one._   And he would have, if it wasn’t for his mother.  He _can_ still protect her.  He needs to protect her.  He stays on his knees, as he watches the bodies burn, tears streaming down his face. 

He doesn’t remember sneaking back down to the longboat.  Nor does he remember rowing back out to sea, and climbing back on board the larger vessel.  As soon as his feet hit the deck, his mother is there waiting for him.  She looks at him, and his face answers her unspoken question.  She takes his hand, and leads him to the cabin.  As soon as she shuts the door, he breaks down sobbing.  She takes him into her arms like when he was a young boy and holds him.

For the next eight years, Flynn protects his mother.  They flee east, to the continent of Gallantos, and move from city-state to city-state for five years, until Queen Maria’s health takes a turn for the worse.  Unable to continue the fugitive lifestyle, he makes arrangements for his mother’s care for the next three years until her death. 

After that, he joins a band of mercenaries.  He prays for death to take him, yet he promises his mother on her deathbed that he will avenge their family.  It’s the only driving force left in him.  He has become ruthless, and never has a more fitting moniker been bestowed upon a man than the “black blade.”

It is during one of these military campaigns, a little over a year and a half ago, that Flynn saves a young boy from being killed by one of his fellow mercenaries.  Even someone as barbarous as he, has a line he’s unwilling to cross.  And, killing children is it.  The boy is probably around the age of seven, and reminds him of his nephews.  They were about that age when they died. 

When the fight is over and his company repels the foreign invaders from the city, he tries to find the boy’s family.  When he saved the child’s life, they were in the central market, so he has no idea where to start.  Perhaps they have already been killed in the fight.  Just then, he sees two men running towards him with their hands in the air, indicating they are unarmed. 

“Kevin!” the older man screams, as the child runs into his arms.

The younger man breathes a sigh of relief. 

“Thank you.  My other son was supposed to be minding him in the market, and then the fight broke out,” he says.

“I thought _you_ were watching him,” the younger man replies.

“Just keep him safe,” Flynn answers.

“Oh, my God…. You are-you are him, aren’t you?” the older man questions.

Flynn looks back at him with a raise of his eyebrow.  _Does this man recognize him?_   He has gone to great lengths to alter his appearance, even growing a thick beard.  Suddenly, the man falls to his knees, and motions for his son to do the same.  The younger man does as his father commands. 

“Your Grace,” the older man says. 

“Your Grace,” the younger man repeats, even though he doesn’t seem to understand what is going on.

“You’re confusing me with someone else,” Flynn responds.

“I beg your pardon, Your Grace, but we met many years ago.  My name is Sir Connor Mason, and these are my two sons, Rufus and Kevin.”

“Sorry.  I’m not who you think I am.”

“You are.  You are Prince Garcia of House Flynn, and the rightful King of Ritten,” Sir Connor declares. 

Flynn has never been able to rid himself of Sir Connor from that day forward.  It is at his insistent prodding that Flynn finally decided to avenge his family.  He became Flynn’s advisor and principal backer.  Mercenary armies are not exactly cheap, and Sir Connor is a very wealthy man.  Plus, he knows about military matters, not how to be a politician, which Sir Connor has an uncanny knack for.  Sometimes, Flynn will completely ignore whatever advice he has given, and sometimes not.  Now, Sir Connor stands next to him in the war room of his childhood home, as they begin to plan the next steps of their quest to take the throne.

**_King’s Keep_ **

The next morning, Lucy wakes with a renewed sense of confidence and excitement.  She has heard tales of Prince Noah’s bravery and valor on the field of battle, as well as his kind nature and good looks.  Bubbling with anticipation of meeting her future husband, Lucy springs out of bed, and opens her bedroom door, just as two handmaidens are coming in. 

Before she knows it, her handmaidens are scrubbing and washing her, although Lucy _prefers_ to do this herself.  After bathing, she steps out of the tub, and is presented with a light-green, silk gown, that has a sweetheart neckline, empire waist and bishop sleeves.  It is a beautiful gown, and Lucy does look good in light-green, as it contrasts her dark hair nicely.  After slipping on her shift, corset and gown, one of her handmaids hands her a necklace.  Her mother really went overboard this time.  The filigree neck sculpture is open in the front, has a vine-like pattern that climbs up her throat, and is encrusted with crystals.  Lucy likes pretty jewelry just as much as the next girl, but this is regally exquisite.  _Is this what her life will be like from now on?  Has she honestly examined what it means to marry a prince?_   Lucy feels ridiculous dressing like this.  She’s much happier in a plainer dress and less ostentatious jewelry, but she’s a dutiful daughter and will do what her parents command.

At last she is ready.  She joins her parents downstairs in the courtyard.  Her mother looks her up and down, and then nods in apparent approval.  They make their way to the royal gardens, and are stopped by the king’s guards at its entrance.  The king beckons them entry, and Lucy follows her parents’ lead into the gazebo, where they will be serving lunch.  Her father bows, and her mother curtsies. 

“Your Grace, may I present my eldest daughter, Lucy,” Benjamin states, as he moves out of the way.

Directly in front of her are King Jake and Prince Noah.

“Your Grace.  My Prince,” Lucy says, as she curtsies.

The Prince is indeed handsome, and his gray-blue eyes sparkle against his dark black hair.  _For once, the rumors actually were true_.  He is dressed in a gold brocade doublet, with a brown jerkin over top, brown pants and boots.  Lucy cannot tell if he seems comfortable in them or not.  She most definitely isn’t comfortable with the dress her mother made her wear.  Or, did he prefer to dress that fancy all the time?  They sit down and chat sporadically during lunch, and Lucy notices him looking her way a few times.  The king asks her if she had a pleasant journey, and if her stay in the capital has been well so far.  She responds shyly that she has, and is enjoying her time in the capital so far.  King Jake is a gruff man, slightly younger than her father, and is mostly bald, with only sparse patches of hair on the sides of his head.  How he could produce something as handsome as Prince Noah, Lucy cannot comprehend.  She is left to conclude that the late Queen Judith must have been a beautiful woman. 

Towards the end of lunch, she feels like she is under inspection by the king.  She can feel his eyes upon her, and her self-doubt starts to creep in.  _Is she not pretty enough for his son?  Not refined enough?_   Her father and the king engage in deep negotiations, and Noah keeps glancing at Lucy nervously. 

“Do you like dancing, my lady?” Prince Noah asks.

Lucy has two left feet, and was never good at dancing.  She does enjoy it, but became conscious of just how awkward she is at it, as she grew older.  She has no idea how to answer.  Rejection is scary, and she knows her mother will blame her somehow. 

“I do,” Lucy responds hesitantly.

“So, do I,” he replies.

Her father and the king stand up and shake hands.  Apparently, some agreement has been reached. 

“She’ll do nicely,” King Jake announces.

It is creeping her out the way he says it, but she also breathes a sigh of relief.   She must be a good enough match after all.  A moment later, a servant interrupts, handing her father a scroll.  The king doesn’t seem to pay any mind, at first.

“A raven just brought this from Hardstone, my Lord Hand,” the servant says to her father.

He unravels the scroll and reads it, but does not change his stoic expression.

“Your Grace.  I’m afraid we will have to cut lunch short.  A pressing matter has arisen,” Sir Benjamin says, as he tilts the scroll towards the king.  The king stares at her father for a moment, and then motions for the prince to follow him.  They both leave the gazebo rather abruptly. 

“I will speak to you later, Lucy,” her father says, as he presses a kiss to her forehead and strolls out of the gazebo as well.

Hours later, her father reappears in their living quarters, with a half-worried and half-annoyed look upon his face. 

“What’s wrong?” her mother asks.  “Has he changed his mind about Lucy?”

“No, it’s not that.  It seems our forgotten prince has returned.  I doubt he’ll just sit on his island and play nice.  Which means that we’re going to war.”

Her mother gasps.  “Are you sure it’s him?”

“Yes.  A few men made it out when he retook the castle.  And, if that isn’t enough, he’s already flying the largest banners you’ve ever seen over the island.  We’re still trying to find out more information, but it’s not looking good.”

Perching on the stairs, she listens to their conversation, until her father notices.

“Lucy, come here.  We need to talk to you.”

Lucy is hoping that whatever is bothering her father are kingdom-related problems, and not wedding-related problems.  She walks down the remainder of the steps, and sits next to her parents on one of the courtyard chairs. 

“Your mother and I have secured a match for you, one that will be very beneficial for this family,” he states.

“I’m going to marry the prince?” Lucy asks, more for confirmation than anything else.

“The prince?  No, you’re not marrying the prince.  You’re going to marry the king.”

“You’re going to be queen, Lucy,” her mother adds.

Lucy sits there in shock.  She has never considered this as a possibility.  Her mother spoke of the prince over and over again. 

“What?  I don’t want to marry that vile old man.  I _will not_ ,” Lucy declares firmly.

“Yes, you _will_ ,” her father barks back.

“No, I will not do it!” Lucy shrieks.

“You will do as I say because you’re my daughter!” he bellows.

This is an absolute nightmare.  The thought of having to lie with the king, is repulsive to her core.  But, she cannot disobey her father.  He will disown her, or more likely drag her kicking and screaming to be wed by force.  Lucy turns to look at her mother in a silent, desperate plea for her to stop this somehow.  She finds nothing there indicating her mother is even willing to try.  Tears stream down her face, and the realization of this entire ordeal is becoming clearer and clearer.  She is being sold like a brood mare.  And, breeding _definitely_ is an expectation.  _How is she going to do this?_  

She stands up and runs back upstairs to her room, sobbing uncontrollably.  She cries until she has no more tears to cry.  Lucy feels nauseous and sick, but most of all, she feels betrayed by her own parents.  _Her own parents_.  She realizes that to an outsider, she comes off as an ungrateful brat.  After all, she is not the only woman ever forced to marry a man they did not want to in the history of the world.  But, her mother promised that she would find someone acceptable to Lucy, and Lucy does not find this acceptable at all.  Her thoughts turn to Prince Noah.  _Did he know when they had lunch, or had his father also led him on?  How will he act towards her now that she’ll be marrying his father?_   She needs someone to talk to.  She needs her sister, but Amy is not here.  So, Lucy does the only thing she can think of, she writes her a letter.  It is the next best thing.  At least she will get to hear what her sister thinks she should do, just not in person.  Lucy has never been a devoutly religious person, but she prays to the gods that night for strength. 

 


	3. Power, Prestige, Providence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy becomes a married woman. Flynn develops a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is where the story really takes off, so enjoy the wild ride that is to come.

War is on the horizon.  At least that’s what Lucy has been told.  It’s also the reason that her parents are rushing her nuptials.  Barely a fortnight since she arrived in the capital, it’s already the day of her wedding.  Her own sister isn’t able to be here, which really upsets Lucy.  At least Amy would be a comfort to her since her parents are certainly not.  Her dress is a floor-length, Grecian-cut, white organza gown, with a low cut front and back, and gold trimming along the bust line.  She has matching gold arm bracelets to accompany a gold-hued belt, and a golden necklace shaped like wings.  Lucy assumes that is because the sigil of House Neville is a raven.  She would never have picked anything this grandiose, but she guesses she’ll have to get used to things like this once she becomes queen.  Her hair is in an elaborate up-do, with a few tendrils hanging down on either side of her face.  She looks at herself in the mirror.  The dress is _very_ sheer and _very_ revealing.  Lucy feels naked in it.  The final touch is the golden tiara, with the same wing shape as her necklace.  She glances at herself in the mirror again, and hardly recognizes the person staring back.  _I’m going to lose myself, aren’t I?_  

There is a knock on the door and her father enters, dressed in his best emerald-green tunic, with golden-colored silk trim and black trousers.  A black cape with golden filigree shoulder-clasps completes his semi-regal look.  Her mother isn’t far behind, wearing her matching green wrap-dress with an emerald necklace and earrings. 

“Lucy, there has never been a more beautiful queen in the history of the kingdom,” her mother declares.

She forces a half-smile in return.  This is a nightmare she can’t awake from, yet she has no choice but to go through with this marriage.  Lucy doesn’t remember leaving the tower and climbing into the litter.  She truly despises having someone carry her, when she has two perfectly good legs that can walk.  _Well, she needs to get used to this if she is going to live here from now on_. 

The litter arrives at the Temple of the Gods, which is on the opposite end of the city from the palace.  Servants help her out of the litter, and the amount of people that line the streets in the hopes of getting a glimpse of her entering the temple are staggering.  The people clap and cheer, and Lucy can’t help but blush.  She is not used to being the center of attention, well, except when it came to her mother.  She takes her father’s arm, as he leads her up the stairs to the temple’s entrance.  She can feel her heart pounding in her chest, her muscles tightening with every step.  _Would it be so awful if the gods struck her down right now?_  

Her mother enters the temple first, and takes her seat in the front with Prince Noah.  The entire temple is filled to the brim with high-born lords and ladies, most of whom Lucy does not know.  Still gripping her father’s arm, she begins her descent down the stairs that lead to the main aisle.  _Breathe.  You can do this.  This is the easy part_. 

As her father walks her down the aisle towards the altar, she can hear whispers and gasps from the wedding guests.  She isn’t sure if that’s a good thing or not.  She reaches the altar, and the king turns to look at her.  Her father almost pushes her towards him, (if it was her mother she would have probably wound up shoving her).  The king takes her hand, and she tries to put on a smile.  She _really_ does try, but when he takes her hand she almost vomits.  _Maybe being disowned wouldn’t be as bad?_  

They are about to recite their vows, and Lucy can feel the eyes of everyone in the temple on her.  _How did this become her life?_ The vows are exchanged, and then it’s time for the king to kiss his new queen.  She has to consciously not make a face of disgust, because she dare not make the king look bad.  Thankfully, public displays of amorous affection are frowned upon, especially among the high-born, so the kiss should be tame.  And, it is. 

They turn around and face the temple occupants.  Lucy is now queen.  The entire concept is so foreign to her.  It still hasn’t sunk in.  They walk back down the aisle, hand-in-hand, and back up the stairs.  The large, gilded doors of the temple open, and the crowd erupts in a jubilant ovation.  She can hear the chants of “Queen Lucy” and “long live the queen” from the crowd.  She smiles and waves back, and the roars grow louder and louder.  She should be happy.  This would be thrilling for most other maidens, but Lucy has never felt more like an ornamental decoration in her life.  She’s a just a new, shiny, glittery object to make the king seem more likeable to the masses.  It is no secret that the people despise him almost as must as King Asher.

The king holds her hand with an almost vice-like grip, as they descend the stairs to the litters waiting below.  Lucy’s litter is now covered in her new banners.  It’s still the purple and green of her house, except it now has a golden crown.  That is the only thing that is comforting about this calamity.  She will always be Lucy of House Preston, since a royal consort can never legally adopt the name of their royal spouse. 

The servants help her back into her litter, and she begins her journey back to the palace.  At least she has her own litter.  The streets of the capital are too narrow for large litters, so you have to ride solo.  

When she arrives back at the palace and gets out of the litter, her husband takes her hand.  _Her husband._ It sounds so weird, even in her own head.  He keeps looking at her with a lecherous gleam in his eye.  Maybe she will vomit after all. 

They walk down to the royal gardens, and take their respective seats at the high table.  Her father sits to her right, and the king to her left, with the prince next to him.  Prince Noah still hasn’t even looked at her.  He keeps his eyes downward, and he appears to be feigning merriment as well. 

After the endless parade of well-wishing lords and ladies, Lucy sits in her chair and takes a large gulp of her wine.  Maybe she can get drunk enough to pretend it isn’t happening.  King Jake and her father are talking to a bunch of important looking men over to the side, when all of a sudden Prince Noah sits down next to her in his father’s chair. 

“I’m sorry.  I didn’t know,” he whispers.

Lucy has no idea how to respond.  In truth she is very disappointed, but she can’t really show it. 

“I didn’t know either,” she stammers.

“Well, since you’re now my mother-by-law, I guess I’m going to have to get used to it.”

Lucy chuckles slightly.  At last, the prince lifts his gaze to meet hers.  He looks visibly pained by the sight of her.

“I hope we can become friends at least,” he adds.

“I would like that too.”

They chat for a little while longer, before Lucy becomes aware of the whispers and stares of some of the other guests.  The prince seems to notice as well, and quickly stands up.  When he bows to take his leave, he accidentally knocks over his father’s wine goblet.  He quickly puts it back upright, and the cup-bearer pours another glass, while the other servants scramble to clean up the mess.  His face is bright red, and Lucy feels for him because she is a klutz as well. 

Lucy’s mother quickly makes an appearance at her side, and she knows the lecture is coming.  Carol is inspecting the table, making sure the servants have indeed cleaned up the mess.  There is a small, red ring on the table linens where the goblet was.  The king obviously notices the commotion, and with a loud huff, he ends his conversation with her father, and begins to storm back to his seat.  Carol quickly grabs the goblet and moves it closer to his chair, and then takes one of the side plates of grapes and cheese and places it over top of the stain.  She gives Lucy one last glare, and then whispers to her “remember, you need to be perfect.”

The king retakes his seat next to Lucy, and makes some crude remark about how he can’t wait to taste her later.  _The vomit is coming, she knows it is._  

The king stands up and raises his wine goblet.  “Stop the music,” he orders.

The minstrels stop playing, and everyone turns their attention to the king.

“To Lucy, my new queen.  I pray you give me many sons.”

_Force a smile._   _Maybe she won’t be forced to consummate this marriage if she’s unconscious.  More wine sounds really good._   She raises her goblet in response, and takes another huge gulp.  The king and the lords and ladies follow suit.  The minstrels begin to play again, and the king sits back down and gives her another lecherous look. 

Then, all of a sudden, the king starts coughing uncontrollably.  He takes another sip of his wine, but the coughing continues.  The king starts gasping for air, as he clutches his throat.  Prince Noah grabs his arm, and screams for the guards to help.  Lucy sits there in shock, as the king’s face turns a purplish hue.  He falls sideways into the prince’s lap, one hand grasping his throat, and the other reaching for his son.  Finally comprehending what is happening, Lucy shoots up out of her seat and moves to the side, as the king’s guards rush in. 

The guards stand around the king powerless to do anything, as blood and bile spew from his mouth.  A moment later, the king is dead.  The only sounds are from Prince Noah, who is holding his father in his arms crying.  Additional guards from the palace stream into the gardens and usher the guests out, leaving only the members of the royal household and king’s council.  Lucy stands motionless, still in shock.  Her mother walks over and pulls her into a tight embrace.  Her knees begin to wobble, as she uses her mother’s body to remain upright.  Prince Noah looks up, and their eyes meet.  She feels such pity for him in that instant.  The prince is devastated.  His eyes are already red and puffy, as the tears continue to flow.  Her father comes over and places his hand on Noah’s shoulder, as the servants wait to take the king’s body to prepare it for burial. 

“Your Grace,” Sir Benjamin states, as he attempts to get the prince’s attention.

But, the prince does not respond.  Her father squeezes the prince’s shoulder again, which seems to wake him from his haze. 

“We need to get you inside, Your Grace.”

Prince Noah slowly rises to his feet, and follows Sir Benjamin down the garden path that leads back to the palace.  It is then she realizes her mother is physically shaking her.

“Lucy.  Lucy,” she yells.

She looks at her mother with a blank stare.

“Come.  We’re going home,” she says, as she pulls Lucy along. 

“Home home or home here?”

“Home here of course.  You’ll be expected to mourn your husband and attend the funeral,” she responds tersely.

**_Hardstone, Isle of Burgundy_ **

Flynn, Karl and Sir Connor are scouring over maps in the war room, when Rufus comes bursting through the door, scroll in hand.  He is clearly out of breath from running. 

“A raven, Your Grace.”

Sir Connor goes to take the scroll out of Rufus’ hand, but Flynn snatches it first. 

“It’s from one of my men in the capital.  The usurper is dead.  Poisoned at his own wedding feast,” Flynn announces.

He hands the scroll to Sir Connor, who reads it as well. 

“Well, that’s fortuitous,” Sir Connor replies sarcastically.

“It doesn’t say who did it.  Try to find out.  We may be able to use them in the future,” Flynn instructs.

Sir Connor nods his head in response. 

“We should find out when the funeral is.  They’ll be distracted, and it’s the perfect time to strike.”

“Most likely in three days, if they are following the customs,” Sir Connor answers.

“Three days.  That doesn’t leave us much time at all,” Flynn states, as he gazes down at the map once again. 

“Your Grace, have you decided if you want to reach out to House Logan for their support?” Sir Connor asks.

“I have.  The situation is delicate, to say the least.  The old man won’t support me.  I already know that.  He blames me for his daughter and granddaughter’s deaths.  My wife’s brother does too, but he’s slightly more reasonable.  He knows who slit their throats, and he knows it wasn’t me.  Perhaps dangling vengeance in front of him could persuade him.  Or…..he could just as easily kill me on the spot before I even get the chance to ask him.  Maybe Anthony can orchestrate something.  He might listen to him.”

His wife’s brother, Sir Wyatt Logan, is without a doubt a hothead.  Flynn’s always known that.  The two men never got along, but were semi-civil for Lorena and Iris’ well-being.  Lorena and her brother were always close, so Flynn put up with his outbursts for her sake. 

He had always considered himself lucky.  Not many princes or lords can say they _actually_ love their wives, but he did with all his heart.  It wasn’t love at first, since they were basically strangers when they were wed.  Love grew between them like a flower in bloom.  He never deserved a woman like her, but she loved him anyway. 

Relations with his father-by-law, Lucas of House Logan, Lord of Summit Hall, were even worse than they were with Sir Wyatt.  Flynn never trusted him, and didn’t like how he treated Lorena.  He was also a nasty drunk, and drunk men tell tales.  When you’re trying to initiate a coup, secrecy is paramount.  It’s a shame Lorena’s grandfather, Sherman, wasn’t still alive.  He would’ve definitely supported him.

Flynn points to the map, and looks up at Karl.  Karl leans over the table to see what he is pointing to, and nods in response. 

“Have you come up with a plan, Your Grace?” Sir Connor inquires.

“Yes, I have.  We’re going to need more men.  And, a woman.”

“A woman?” Sir Connor, Rufus and Karl ask in unison.

“Yes.  One woman in particular.  And, if she agrees to my plan, it could gain us another five thousand men.  We need to act quickly, though.  I need parchment and ink.  Make sure the ravens are fed and ready to fly.”

Rufus bows, then sprints out of the war room to tend to the ravens, while Sir Connor hands Flynn the ink and parchment.  His plan is simple, well sort of.  He will take House Neville’s home away from them.  He will attack The Bunker.  It will not be easy, but if he attacks them on the day of the king’s funeral, it might be his best chance to score a decisive victory in this newly begun war.  His men will sail to The Bunker, and cut off their escape to the sea.  House Bruhl’s men will sail from their home of Shadowspear in the west, down the River Keynes to The Watershed, and cut off any escape to the south and west.  When the faux king hears the news, he will undoubtedly send an army north from the capital to deal with the problem.  That’s exactly what Flynn is counting on in order for the second part of his plan to work. 

He writes quickly on the paper, rolls it and seals it in wax with his signet ring.  Rufus reenters the war room, clearly still out of breath, to inform Flynn the ravens are ready to fly.  Flynn hands him the scroll.

“This needs to get to Shadowspear as soon as possible.  Have them send the fastest raven,” he commands.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

**_King’s Keep_ **

The next morning, Lucy dresses in a long, black gown with bishop sleeves.  The dress is plain, with a small amount of embroidery on the collar and sleeves.  She is still in shock from what happened.  She has never seen anyone die so gruesomely right in front of her before.  Every time she fell asleep last night, it would creep its way into her dreams, and she would wake up sweaty and screaming.  She would rather have had one of those wolf nightmares instead.  Her mother isn’t much help either.  She is trying her best to comfort Lucy, but nothing is working.  Now, Lucy has to march down to the throne room for the hurried coronation of the prince. 

She takes her place in the front row of people, next to her mother.  Her father stands next to the throne, and Prince Noah stands in front of it.  The high priest is on the other side, the crown balancing on a pillow in his arms.  The high priest moves toward the prince, and holds the crown over his head.

“I now pronounce Noah of House Neville, first of his name, King of Ritten and Protector of the Realm.  Long may he reign!” the high priest declares, as he slides the crown onto Noah’s head.

“Long may he reign,” the audience repeats.

After the pledges of fealty by the lords and members of the council, the throngs gathered in the throne room begin to disperse.  There is no feast, no celebration to be had.  The now-king is still in mourning and so is Lucy, even though her marriage technically never took place since it was not consummated. 

King Noah walks up to Lucy, and asks if he can speak to her in private.  He beckons Lucy to a small antechamber off the throne room.  He motions his guards to stand back, as he shuts the door behind them.  He takes Lucy’s hands in his, and stares directly into her eyes.  Lucy can see he’s attempting to hold back his tears.

“Please tell me you had nothing to do with my father’s death,” he pleads.

“Of-of course not,” she replies adamantly.

He searches her face for a moment, and then lets out an audible sigh. 

“Lady Lucy, I don’t know who I can trust and who I can’t.  I know I don’t know you very well, but for some reason I trust you.”

“Of course you can trust me Your Grace.”

“There are whispers that I killed my own father,” he says, as he shakes his head in disbelief.  “As if, I could ever do such a thing.”

Lucy looks back at the king with genuine sympathy.  He is now alone, both of his parents gone.  She can’t even imagine what that must be like. 

“Can I trust you to always be honest with me my lady?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

He holds onto her hand, as he opens the door.  Some of the council members are there waiting for him, and Lucy is pretty sure that they all saw the sign of affection the king showed her.  This is not going to help the rumor mill one iota.  She has heard the rumors that the prince poisoned the king to get revenge for marrying her.  She is also well aware of the rumors that blame _her_ for the king’s death.  She truly has no idea who did it, but she’s almost positive that Noah had no part in it.  Supposedly, the cup-bearer was arrested and confessed to the crime, but it’s all a little too tidy for Lucy’s suspicions.  The council surrounds the king, and they go back into the antechamber to discuss matters of importance.  Lucy goes back to her living quarters, where her mother is waiting in the courtyard.

“Lucy, come here,” her mother calls out.

She walks over to her mother, and sits down beside her.

“You did well today.  King Jake without a doubt found you desirable, and King Noah is _very_ interested.  He will be much easier for you to manipulate,” her mother states casually.

“What?”

“Oh, Lucy.  Don’t be so naïve.  Did you honestly think I would let you marry that boor?”

It takes her a second to grasp the meaning of what her mother has just said.  Lucy gasps loudly when it hits her that her mother was involved in the king’s death.  She sits there staring blankly at her mother.  _Who is this person in front of her?  This is not the woman she’s known all her life_. 

“You…”

“Shh. Not so loud, Lucy,” her mother warns.

“What happens now?”

“You will mourn your husband properly.  Then, once some time has passed, you will marry King Noah.  In the meantime, you will continue to cultivate your relationship with him and gain his trust.”

This man has just lost his father, and her mother’s only thoughts are to figure out how to manipulate and use him to her own benefit.

“Mom, I can’t hurt him like that.  He’s a nice man and he’s grieving,” Lucy complains.

“You will do this Lucy.  It’s your destiny to become queen.  The family is counting on you.”

At least this is a much better situation than she had been in previously, and Noah seems to be a genuinely nice man who seems to care for her.  But, the fact that her own mother has been a party to regicide consumes her thoughts.   _Did she put the poison in herself, or have someone else do it?  Did someone else come up with this plan and she just went along with it?_  

“Just be extra supportive during the funeral,” her mother adds, as she stands up and walks down the corridor.

Lucy sits there for a second, then puts her heads into her hands.  Her entire life has been completely uprooted, and chaos seems to be the new normal for her.  She is trying to remain strong, but there is only so much one can take before they become traumatized and broken.  She is already close to the edge, and it will not take much to send her over it.  She cannot dare put this in a scroll to inform Amy what has happened, in case it makes its way into the wrong hands.  The only other person she can talk to is King Noah, and she can’t tell him either.  Lucy feels sick, and her insides are twisting.  How will she be able to go on living with this knowledge?  _Oh, Gods, is her father involved too?_   She has never been particularly close with him, but he has never outright lied to her either.  _Should she tell him?_   Confusion swirls around her brain like an eddy.  She decides this is information she needs to think about and process, before she makes a hasty decision she will regret.

 


	4. A Storm Is Swelling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flynn puts his plan in motion and Lucy receives some encouraging news.

**_Hardstone, Isle of Burgundy_ **

Flynn receives a raven the next morning from House Bruhl.

“What does it say, Your Grace?” Sir Connor asks.

“Anthony reluctantly agrees to my terms.  He sent a raven to Wyatt, and he agrees to send his men.”

“Just like that?” Rufus questions.

Sir Connor shoots his son a scornful look. 

“I offered him the one thing he’s wanted since I can remember,” Flynn answers.

Rufus and Sir Connor both stare back at him.

“Jessica of House Bruhl.”

“The woman,” Sir Connor says, with a look of semi-understanding on his face.

“He’s been in love with Anthony’s daughter for a long time.  I know Anthony wants a better match for her, but his need for revenge on House Neville and the others is greater in the end.”

“So, what exactly is your plan, Your Grace?” Sir Connor asks.

“I’m going to show them what it means to suffer,” he declares.

Flynn smiles, and stands there silently for a few minutes.  Then, he turns to Rufus.  “Rufus, tell Karl and the men to set sail for The Bunker.  And, send a raven to House Marri.  Tell them I will rendezvous with them at the aforementioned spot as planned.”

“Yes, Your Grace, right away.”

Flynn turns to Connor.  “Well, Sir Connor.  Let’s go start a war.”

**_King’s Keep_ **

The morning of King Jake’s funeral arrives, and Lucy puts on her most elaborate black mourning dress, as her mother instructs.  Her father and mother are waiting for her in the courtyard, when she comes down the stairs.  Suddenly, there is a knock on their door, and one of the servants comes in to announce their guest.

“My Lord Hand, my ladies.  May I present Emma of House Whitmore, Lady of Crimson Rock, Trustee of the Tundra.”

Carol rolls her eyes, as Emma strides into the courtyard.

“Long time no see, _sister_ ,” Emma states.

“I see you still need to be announced by all of your titles to make up for your lack of prestige,” Carol retorts.

Emma curls her lip in response, as she greets the other occupants of the room.  “Benjamin,” Emma says with a curtsy, “Princess.”

She hates when her Aunt Emma calls her that.  Lucy has never gotten along with her mother’s younger sister, and the two sisters are even worse to each other. 

“Why are you here, Emma?” Carol questions.

“To pay my respects to the king, of course,” Emma replies with a smirk.

Again comes a knock at their front door, and a servant enters.

“A raven just arrived for Lady Whitmore from Crimson Rock,” the servant announces, as he hands a scroll to Emma.

Emma opens it, as Carol strains her neck to try to read it as well.  Lucy has a much better angle, and Emma isn’t paying her any attention at the moment.  It says something about them finding some kind of ancient vault or tomb under the ice somewhere in the Timeless Mountains.  It also says something about it being what they think she has been looking for.  _What is her Aunt up to?_  

House Whitmore controls the northernmost region of the continent called The Tundra.  It’s the largest region by area, but is sparsely populated due to its harsh climate.  The Tundra is bordered on the west by the Sobbing Sea, and to the east by the Sea of Cahill.  The southern lands border The Crags in the southwest, The Glen to the south and The Watershed to the southeast.  It’s a vast, harsh landscape, with sparsely scattered trees, as growth is hindered from the low temperatures and short growing season.  House Whitmore’s seat, Crimson Rock, is located south of the Timeless Mountains in the far north.  The soil north of the Timeless Mountains are permafrost.  The people who live there are stern, harsh and cold, but loyal and hard-working. 

Her Aunt Emma has no reason to be digging around in the Timeless Mountains.  It’s snow-covered all year and completely desolate.  This isn’t some random expedition.  She’s searching for something, and knows just where to begin to look.  Between her mother’s involvement with killing the king, and now her Aunt digging in the ice for some ancient vault or tomb, Lucy is really beginning to wonder how she and Amy are remotely normal.  Maybe they were lucky enough to have those Whitmore genes skip their generation. 

A few minutes later, the servant reappears at the door, and informs them it’s time to leave for the funeral.  They all leave the tower, and proceed down to the Temple of the Gods.  The funeral goes off without a hitch, and many of the guests make their way back to the palace for the feast afterward.  King Noah tries to stay as close to Lucy as he can throughout the funeral and the feast.  Lucy feels for him.  She feels as lost as he does, and she can’t even tell him why.  At one point, he places his hand over hers on the table, and she knows the gesture has been witnessed by many who have their doubts already about both of their involvement in the king’s death.  Maybe they can actually make this work between them.  If they only trust each other, they will never be disappointed.

Suddenly, a guard from House Preston appears, and hands Lucy’s father a scroll.  Lucy is learning that it’s never good news when they interrupt important events like this.  Her father reads it, and turns to look at King Noah.  It is the first time Lucy ever saw her father look absolutely terrified.  Her father gets up from his seat, and comes over to the king, bending down to whisper into his ear.  “We have a problem, Your Grace.”

“What is it?  Can’t it wait until later?”

“I’m afraid that it cannot.  We’ve just received word that The Bunker is under attack.”

Noah’s face becomes grim at first, but then turns full of rage.  It’s the first time Lucy has ever seen him like that. 

“Send our men to help defend it then,” he orders.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

**_The Shoals_ **

Flynn sails with a smaller contingent of men from Hardstone, through Sandbank Bay, to an area in the west of The Shoals.  It is there that he and his men meet up with the forces of House Marri and House Logan.  The king doesn’t have enough ships to transport his entire army to The Bunker via the Sea of Cahill, so together they will march across The Shoals and ambush the forces of the king on their way to The Bunker.  He just prays that Karl and House Bruhl’s forces are able to keep the men sent by ship at bay. 

They wait for what feels like forever, before they finally see the king’s men enter the valley they planned their ambush for.  Once the king’s men pass the point of no return, they surround the valley and launch their attack. 

Lady Denise Marri accompanies her men, and although she is known as a fierce warrior in her own right, she stays on her horse on the top of the ridge watching the battle in the valley below.  It’s during this period of observation that she gets to witness both Sir Wyatt Logan and the Black Blade himself in battle.  Sometimes, she thinks the two are actually in the middle of a competition to see who kills more men, or who kills faster.  The king’s forces are woefully unprepared for this sneak attack, and are defeated soundly.  Flynn purposely spares one man, so that he can bring a message back to King Noah for him.

“Tell him the Black Blade is coming.  Tell him death rides for King’s Keep,” Flynn states with menacing authority.

**_King’s Keep_ **

When the solider Flynn spared arrives back at the palace, he is still shaking in his boots.  King Noah and Sir Benjamin are both furious.  They speak to Lady Emma about committing her men to the cause, since House Whitmore was also a major part of the coup.  Emma sends a raven immediately, and indicates she will of course support her king.  Sir Benjamin sends a raven to his brother, Nicholas, who is acting Lord of Rittenfell in Sir Benjamin’s absence.  He commands his younger brother to send their troops.  War is upon them, whether they want it or not.

When Lucy’s father returns to the tower later that evening, he is in a visibly foul mood.  She can hear him and her mother arguing downstairs, but cannot make out the specifics.  Something big is happening, and her father seems to be showing genuine concern.  That concerns Lucy even more, since the man is normally a bedrock of calm.

“Lucy.  Lucy come down here!” he yells.

Lucy leaves her room on the second floor, and proceeds with caution down the stairs to the central courtyard. 

“Lucy, I am sending you back to Rittenfell.  There is a strong possibility that King’s Keep will be under siege shortly.  I do not want you here if that happens.  It will be risky sending you by boat because The Bunker is also currently under attack, but we must take this chance before it’s too late.”

“Okay,” Lucy replies without hesitation.

Anyway she can get home, she’ll do it at this point.  Her dream trip to the capital has turned out to be nothing short of a nightmare.  In fact, she is having _literal_ nightmares from what she has experienced. 

“They most likely will not stop cargo ships.  You will need to travel as a commoner.  It will not be pleasant.  I will send one of my most trusted men to pose as your husband and ensure your safety.  I need you to understand how dangerous this is Lucy.  I cannot not bear the thought of this city being sacked, and you being raped and killed.”

“I do not like this at all Benjamin!” Carol exclaims.

“I really don’t care what you think.  My mind is made up.  I am sending Lucy home,” he barks.  “Go upstairs and pack a bag for the journey.  And, change into something a little less conspicuous my dear.”

_Thank the Gods she is finally getting the hell out of here_. 

She goes back upstairs, and throws a few items into her “non-conspicuous” travel bag.  She changes into the plain, back dress and green cloak that she made her original journey in.  Her father’s demeanor scares her.  She has never been in a city under siege before.  Her only knowledge of what it will be like comes from history books.  She doesn’t even know who is attacking the city.  Then her thoughts drift to her parents and the king.  _What will become of them if the city is sacked?_   Too many thoughts swirl through her head.  _Is she doing the right thing by leaving as her father wants?  What will the king think if she abandons him? They did make promises to each other, after all._

Her reverie is interrupted by a commotion downstairs.  She is going down anyway, so she grabs her bag and makes her way to the courtyard.  She is shocked to see King Noah standing there.

“Lady Lucy.  Are you going somewhere?” he asks in confusion. 

“Yes, Your Grace.  Father thinks it is best I return home for the time being.” 

King Noah turns to look at her father and mother, who stand with baited breath for the king’s reaction.

“I agree with your father, my lady.  It is probably safer for you in Rittenfell, though I am sad to see you go,” he replies, looking at his feet bashfully.

“I will have her return to the capital as soon as this war is over,” her father assures.

“Have you arranged safe passage for her?”

“I have, Your Grace.  As safe as one can be, but we both know there is always a risk.”

“Benjamin, I wish you would let her go with more men,” Carol complains, “or at least let her travel with my sister.  Emma will protect her.”

Her father whirls on his heel to face her mother, and closes the distance between them until he is inches away from her face.  “I don’t trust your sister!” he yells.  “She always has her own agenda.  I know she will not think twice about hurting Lucy, if it means furthering her own prestige in this world.  You have perpetually given her more credit that she deserves.”

“She’s more loyal than your brother has ever been!” Carol barks back.

“Enough!  This is not up for discussion, woman.  Lucy is going home.  Plus, your sister stated she has more business in the capital before she goes home.”

“Business?  What business could she have here?”

The king stands there throughout this spat just staring at his feet, and every once in a while steals a glance at Lucy.  Lucy, on the other hand, is mortified at her parents’ behavior, and when she catches the king’s eyes at one point she mouths, “I’m sorry,” to him.  

“May I speak to Lady Lucy?” King Noah requests.

Her parents look at her.

“Alone, please?”

Her parents bow and curtsy, and the king takes Lucy’s arm and leads her out onto the balcony.  They stand there for a moment, and then he takes her hand in his.  “My lady, I…”

“What is it, Your Grace?” Lucy questions with concern.

The king takes a deep breath, and squeezes her hand a little harder.  “My lady, I like you.  I like you, a lot,” he whispers, as he blushes slightly.

Lucy just stands there silently.  _She likes him too, but should she say it or not?_  

“I don’t care what the people say, or how bad it may look.  I would like to marry you once this war is over.  I realize this is a delicate situation, but I was hoping you might be agreeable.”

Lucy squeezes his hand back.  “I would be agreeable to that, Your Grace.”

The king brings her hand up to his lips and kisses it.  Lucy blushes in response.  She feels like she did when she was younger and experiencing her first crush.  King Noah looks back to see if anyone is watching them from the tower or courtyard.  Determining that they are indeed alone, he leans down and kisses her softly.  It’s a chaste kiss, but he does linger slightly, with the promise of more once they’re married.  He holds her hand to his chest with both of his, and her other hand perches on his arm.  This is the closest they have ever been. 

“Please send word to me once you make it home safely,” he whispers into her ear, “I don’t know what I will do if I lose you too.”

“Of course, Your Grace.  You be careful as well.  The kingdom is depending on you.”

He kisses her hand once again.  “You should go,” he whispers softly.

Lucy nods in response.  He lets go of her hand, turns, and walks back into the courtyard.  Lucy stands there for a moment.  She wants to soak up this feeling for a little bit longer before she leaves.  Of course her mother quickly ruins her peace by calling for her.  Lucy sighs, and then walks back into the courtyard where her mother and father are waiting.

“What did the king want, Lucy?” her mother questions.

Lucy thinks for a second.  “He wants me to make it home safely, and wanted to tell me that he will miss me.”

She totally leaves out the part about him wanting to marry her.  Best not give her mother any more ammunition for some new scheme. 

“You need to get going, Lucy,” her father instructs.

She hugs her parents, picks up her bag and meets Thomas, her father’s guard and her pretend husband on this journey.  She takes his arm, and they make their way out of the palace and into the crowded streets of the capital.  The common people are hurrying about their daily routines, completely unaware of the danger that approaches.  They make their way down to the docks, and board a cargo ship that is heading north.  Hopefully, they will be able to make it back to Cahilla without any problems. 

Unfortunately, problems are exactly what Lucy experiences from the moment they set sail.  The sea is choppy, and she becomes nauseous immediately.  Thomas is holding a small bucket, and she is vomiting into it every so often.  She feels horrible, and fears she looks even worse by this point.  Instead of getting better, the ride is becoming choppier as time goes by. 

Thomas goes up on the deck to speak to the captain.  Lucy isn’t sure she can take much more of this.  Night is falling and they are passing Garnet Isle, but Lucy is not able to sleep at all. 

A storm has come upon them, and it is tossing the boat about with brutish force.  She huddles with Thomas in the small cabin at the back of the boat, while the captain and sailors try their best to brave through the conditions.  The winds are howling, and every wooden plank of the boat creaks and strains against the thrashing waves.  A thunderous boom comes from overhead, and they can hear screaming from the men on deck.  A hissing sound is coming from the corner of the cabin, and it’s growing louder by the second.  Suddenly, the wooden plank cracks, and water spews into the cabin.  Lucy shrieks, and Thomas does his best to try to plug the hole, but it’s no use. 

He grabs her hand and opens the cabin door.  There are men rushing up and down the stairs to the main deck in a frenzied state.  Lucy sees the men who are on the opposite side of the ship start running for the stairs.  Thomas grabs her hand again, and they rush to the stairs and make it half-way up, before more leaks begin to spring.

She’s beyond terrified, and if it wasn’t for Thomas she would’ve drowned in the cabin most likely.  They make it to the top deck to find the mast has been crippled, and the vessel is going down fast.  The storm continues to rage, which makes the deck slick as oil.  Lucy falls twice in a matter of minutes.  Thomas tried to remain calm for her sake down below, but now is panicking.  They cling to each other, searching the other’s face for a glimpse of what to do. 

The next thing she knows, a huge wave comes crashing over the deck, and her and Thomas’ feet go out from under them.  She is sliding towards the end of the ship that’s quickly going under.  Grasping and grabbing around blindly in the dark, Lucy’s hand finds something solid and she holds on for dear life.  Thomas grabs her leg, and he’s inadvertently pulling Lucy down.  She can barely hold on bearing her own weight, let alone his.  Lucy can feel his grip slipping, as his icy fingers slide down her leg. 

A few seconds later, the pulling stops.  She searches around, and Thomas is nowhere to be seen.  She is on her own, and she is probably going to die.  She grips the netting and rope her hands have miraculously found with all her might, but her strength is waning, and the rope is slipping from her fingers.  She’s freezing cold and soaking wet, and the wind and rain are blinding her.  She feels another huge shift of the deck, and then she’s plummeting into the murky, frigid water below, banging her head and slashing her arm in the process.  She can hear muffled screams around her once she reaches the surface of the water, but cannot differentiate the direction they’re coming from.  The waves are crashing over her head, throwing her body around like it is made of straw.  She sees the netting she had been holding onto earlier floating by.  The netting had been holding barrels, and it is really the only part of the ship still on the surface.  She swims as hard as she can, using the remainder of her waning energy, and climbs onto the netting as high as she can.  She has to get as much of her body out of the frigid water.  Gasping for air, she lays her head down on the barrel trying to catch her breath.  Her head is pounding, and blood is dripping down her face and arm.  She has no idea how much longer this storm will continue to rage, she has no idea where she is, and she’s completely alone.  Her survival instincts begin to kick in, and she tries to paddle towards where the waves look slightly calmer.  She’s aware that she could be paddling the wrong way and might be going further out to sea, but she needs to try to escape this torrential tempest. 

Finally, after paddling for what feels like forever, the sun begins to rise, and Lucy can get a bearing on which way is east.  The tide seems to be pushing her towards shore, and she has no better choice than to try to ride it out.  Exhausted, dehydrated and weak, she rests her head on top of the barrel, and fights off the need for sleep for a while, before finally succumbing.

 


	5. Mermaids, Magic & Wicked Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rufus makes a new acquaintance. Emma hunts for ancient wisdom. Flynn suffers a setback.

**_Hardstone, Isle of Burgundy_ **

Rufus never wanted to be carted half-way around the world.  Sure, he wanted to see the other side of the world _one_ day, but this was not what he had in mind.  He always envisioned himself as someone who could make something of himself, just like his father.  Sir Connor Mason is a self-made man, a spice merchant by trade, well until Rufus’ mother died.  After that, Rufus struggled to keep the business afloat.  His father spent a good deal of their fortune on alcohol and creature comforts.  Care of his little brother, Kevin, fell to him as well.  He had planned to study at the ancient library in Letira, or perhaps even in King’s Keep, where he could acquire a plethora of skills.  Instead, he found himself caring for a seven year-old child and a grown man.  That was, until Garcia Flynn saved his little brother’s life one day. 

That was the day everything changed for him.  His father cleaned up his act, (well mostly), and dedicated his life to helping the lost prince regain his family’s throne.  This, of course, meant Rufus and Kevin would be dragged along with him.  He didn’t like the prince at first.  Not at all, really.  He was beyond unpleasant, and way too rough around the edges for Rufus to believe this guy is any sort of royalty.  There will be moments he will start to think the prince isn’t all that bad, and then he’ll do something that makes Rufus conclude he is actually psychotic and right to fear him in the first place.  Now, he is stuck on this island, babysitting his younger brother, playing errand boy for some damaged warrior prince.  

The prince and most of his men are off killing people somewhere, leaving his father basically in charge of the island.  There isn’t much for him to do, so he decides to take Kevin outside.  Kevin runs ahead of him onto the beach, while Rufus sits on a large rock, watching him play.  He closes his eyes to take in the morning sun, when he hears his brother calling for him.  Rufus sighs, then gets up to see what Kevin’s problem is. 

He’s way further down the beach than Rufus thought, and is waving his arms at Rufus, as he pokes at a large object laying in the sand.  Rufus can’t tell what it is with the sun’s glare in his eyes.  It looks like cargo netting and seaweed. 

As Rufus gets closer, he can see that it isn’t just an object, but a person.  Kevin is gently poking the body with a stick, but isn’t getting any type of response. 

“Kevin!” Rufus yells, “What are you doing?”

“There’s a lady.  I think she’s dead,” Kevin answers, as he pokes her once again with his stick.

Just as Rufus reaches him, the woman jerks and moans, and then stops.  He runs over to her.  She isn’t dead, but she’s close to it.  She has a huge gash in her head and left arm, along with numerous scrapes and bruises, and has seaweed stuck in her tangled brown hair. 

“Kevin.  Run back up to the castle and get two of the soldiers to give me a hand,” Rufus instructs.

“Okay,” Kevin says, as he runs back down the beach towards the castle.

Rufus is not the biggest man, but this woman looks small, so he picks her up and starts carrying her down the beach.  Thankfully, the soldiers come down and help him get her inside.  They put her in one of the servants’ quarters, since it is closest to the kitchen, and they will need water to clean her wounds. 

Two of the chambermaids rip the rest of the left sleeve of her gown, so they can clean and sew up her wound there, while Rufus attempts to find the source of the bleeding in her scalp.  The woman opens her eyes every so often, and passes back out just as fast.  He assumes she’s just a commoner, based on her dress, who probably got caught in that storm last night, and somehow made it to the island. 

Once he locates her head wound, they clean and sew that up as well.  Then they bandage her arm wound, since that is much deeper than the accompanying one in her head.  Rufus has the servants fetch fresh clothes for her since the woman’s are still damp. 

Kevin is fascinated by the “mermaid” he has found.  Rufus explains to him that she’s just a regular girl, but Kevin is having none of it.  He refuses to leave the room until the mermaid wakes up.  Rufus tells him he can stay, if he practices his reading quietly while they wait.  Kevin agrees, and Rufus breathes a sigh of relief. 

When the woman hasn’t regained consciousness by dinner, Rufus demands that Kevin eat before he can go back to his mermaid watch.  Kevin fusses, but finally gives in, as his stomach is starting to growl from hunger.  They leave the room, walk back up to the main floor of the castle and into the dining room, where Sir Connor is already waiting for them.

“Where the bloody hell have you two been?” Sir Connor questions, as he takes a swig of his wine.

“We were on the beach,” Rufus replies.

“Is that blood on your shirt?” Sir Connor asks, as he squints for a closer inspection.

“It’s not his, father.  It’s the mermaid’s,” Kevin interjects.

“The what?”

“I found a mermaid on the beach.  She was hurt, and Rufus and I fixed her up.  We’re waiting for her to wake up, so we can put her back into the sea,” Kevin states with excitement, as he jumps up and down.

“Kevin, there’s no such thing as mermaids.  Rufus, I thought I told you to stop reading him those magical creature stories,” Sir Connor scolds.

“We _did_ find a woman on the beach.  She was unconscious and wounded, so we brought her up to the castle.”

“What?  You brought some strange woman in here with all that’s going on?”

“All that’s going on?  All that’s going on is you’re drunk right now.  The prince isn’t here, there’s nothing to do anyway.”

“Precisely. Thus, the wine,” Sir Connor slurs.

Rufus rolls his eyes, and sits down at the table.  Kevin pretty much inhales his food, so he can get back to his mermaid vigil. 

“Just make sure you have her out of here by the time the prince returns,” Sir Connor instructs.

“She’s in the servants’ quarters.  Even if he were here, he would never know.”

Sir Connor shrugs his shoulders, and then proceeds to have the servants pour him more wine.  Rufus finishes his dinner, as his brother taps his finger impatiently on the table. 

“Okay, fine.  Let’s go,” Rufus says to Kevin, as he rises from the table.

**_King’s Keep_ **

Emma enters the Temple of the Gods.  She walks down the central aisle to the main altar, lights a candle and kneels.  She utters a nondescript prayer, then stands up and places the candle on the altar.  She turns to her left, goes through the side door, and down the spiral staircase to the floor below.  The corridor is aglow in bright candlelight, as Emma follows the walkway that leads passed small rooms on either side.  Priests and priestesses scurry in and out of the corridor, going about their daily rituals and routines. 

She follows the corridor to its end, where there is a large door, with engraved brass hinges.  Emma checks the corridor again to make sure no one is paying attention to her, and then pulls a key from the inside of her cloak.  She puts the key delicately into the brass lock, and turns it slowly.  Once she hears the clicking sound and checks the corridor again, she quickly enters the room.  It is completely dark, but she can see from the light in the corridor that there is a lantern hanging on a nail by the door.  She lights the lantern, and closes the heavy door as quietly as possible. 

She holds the lantern up, and her eyes widen at the site before her.  The Library of the Gods.  Some people still debate its existence to this day, and here she is, standing in the middle of it.  Like a bolt of lightning, she rushes down the aisles to the section her source told her to search.  She finds the book, and brings it over to the small desk in the corner.  She places the lantern on the desk, and cracks the ancient, dust-covered tome open.  She flips through the pages with precision, finally finding the section she has been looking for.  Then she hears the jingling of keys, and the door to the library opens.  She does not hear any footsteps, but the next time she glances up from the book, the high priest is standing right there.

“My lady.  You should not be here!” he exclaims.

Emma stands up slowly, and as she turns she holds a knife to the high priest’s throat.

“Where are the missing pages from this book?” she asks, pressing the knife harder, but not quite breaking his skin.

“I have no idea.  I have never even laid eyes on that book before today.  There is a system.  We work our way from the front of the library to the back.  The older it is, the more likely it’s been back there for a long time,” he explains.

“Who else has access besides the priests and priestesses?”

“No one.  It’s possible the pages were never here to begin with.”

“What?  What do you mean, old man?” Emma snarls.

“We are not the only library, my lady.  Many times they would take pages out of important tomes and store them elsewhere.  Silly superstition about keeping magic out of the hands of the unworthy.  It is complete nonsense, but they believed it back then.”

“Back when?”

“Back to the days of the Ritten Kings…and some say even before that.”

“Where are these other libraries?”

“I have said too much already.  I cannot tell you that,” he states with conviction.

“Fine.  I’ll find them myself,” she says, as she cuts the priest’s throat.

She grabs the book just in case she might need it later, and hides it in her cloak.  She blows out the lantern, shuts the door behind her, and leaves the priest’s body on the floor.  She makes her way back to the main floor of the temple, walks out the door and disappears into the night.

**_Hardstone, Isle of Burgundy_ **

When Lucy opens her eyes, confusion sets in, as she glances at her surroundings.  She has no idea where she is or what has happened.  The last thing she remembers, is being on her makeshift raft, praying the tide would take her to the shoreline.  She tries to sit up, but her body promptly informs her that is just not happening.  Her head hurts, her arm hurts, every muscle hurts.  As her eyes focus more on the room, she sees a little boy sitting in a chair in the corner reading a book.  He must have heard her wake, because he puts the book down and stares right at her.

“Hi,” Lucy says.

The boy stands there silently for a few minutes, before turning his head and yelling out into the hallway.  “She’s awake!”

Lucy holds her head when he yells.  It feels like she has been beaten within an inch of her life.  Thumping and pounding with every heartbeat, she’s trying to concentrate on what is going on, but finds it difficult.

Suddenly, a man appears in the doorway, with the young boy peeking around him.

“Welcome back to the land of the living.”

“Uhhh,” Lucy moans.

“Don’t worry.  You’re safe now.  A little worse for wear, but safe,” he replies with a smile.

Lucy should find this alarming.  She’s in a strange room, with a strange man and boy, in a strange place.  For some reason, the man does not frighten her, but actually calms her slightly.  She tries again to sit up in the bed, and the man rushes to her side to help her do it.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.  My name is Rufus, and this is my brother, Kevin.”

“Lucy.”

She does not want to tell them any more than that.  She has learned quickly from her time in the capital that everyone has their own allegiances and side deals going on.  Who knows what side this guy is on.

“She speaks in the common tongue,” Kevin whispers to Rufus in amazement.

“Of course she does.  She’s a real lady, Kevin.  Probably from not too far from here.”

“What?” Lucy asks in confusion.

“I’m sorry.  My brother thinks you’re a mermaid.  I told him that you’re most definitely _not_ , because they don’t exist.”

Lucy chuckles lightly, but cringes in pain. 

“Easy.  You took a nasty hit to your head, among other things,” Rufus cautions.

“How did I get here?  Where is here?”

“You’re at Hardstone, on the Isle of Burgundy.  My brother found you on the beach.  We thought you were dead at first.”

It takes a moment for Lucy to process.  She is much further south than she should be, and the last she heard, the castle was occupied by the prince’s men.  Rufus does not appear to be one of them, though.  There is nothing in the room to identify the house that’s currently occupying the castle, no clues to help her decide how much to answer.

“Well, I’m glad you’re finally awake.  We were beginning to think you wouldn’t.  It’s been two days since we found you on the beach.”

“Two days?  I’ve been unconscious for two days?”

“Yes.  I’m going to have the servants bring you some food and water.  Just take it easy.  Like I said, you’re safe here,” he says with a smile.

He disappears out the door, and then yells for Kevin to follow him.  Lucy is grateful.  He seems like a nice guy, and she would’ve died most likely without his help.  She wants to ask if anyone else washed up on the beach.  Maybe Thomas survived as well?  If so, he will know what to do.  Right now, she just wants to rest and start to feel better.

House Preston and House Whitmore send their armies to intercept the armies of House Bruhl and the company of sell-swords holding The Bunker.  They outnumber their opponents two to one, but The Bunker is a strong fortress.  House Bruhl retreats there, and Karl, who is in charge of the sell-swords, sends a raven to Hardstone requesting his orders from the prince.  Sir Connor receives and relays the message to the prince at their encampment in the western Shoals. 

Flynn knew he would have to change tactics, as soon as he read the message.  He can order his men to defend the fortress, which will inevitably fall, or he can order them to join the rest of the army here.  If he does that though, he will wind up fighting a war on two fronts, which is never a good idea.  His best bet is to leave a small contingent of men to defend The Bunker, and sail the remainder down the coast to join with the main army.  If House Preston and House Whitmore think the men are still at The Bunker, he can reinforce the siege of the city and buy precious time.  Once they find out the bulk of the army has already moved, they will turn and march for the capital.  That leaves a small window to be able to breach the city gates and sack the city before House Preston and House Whitmore can arrive.  It’s not his best tactical move, but the only other option is to retreat and come up with a new strategy, which is also risky. 

Not wanting to decimate his army completely, he orders his men to retreat from The Bunker and to head back to Hardstone.  He will hold his siege for now, but will pull back once he knows Karl and House Bruhl’s men made it back to the island.  His only regret is that he’s sending two thousand men to their death by having them guard The Bunker, while the others make their escape.  He leaves Sir Wyatt in charge of the siege, and accompanies Lady Marri back to The Dunes.  From there, he boards a small ship and returns to Hardstone.

As soon as he arrives back on the island, he knows something is going on.  The servants are busy running around, and they won’t make eye contact with him (not that they really did before).  When he runs into Rufus, he’s positive something is up, as Rufus is the worse liar ever.

“What’s going on?”

“What do you mean, Your Grace?” Rufus answers, as he looks at his feet.

“Rufus!” he growls.

“Beg your pardon, Your Grace.  There was a storm the other night, and we found a woman on the beach.  She was badly wounded, so we brought her here to tend to her wounds.  She won’t be any trouble.  She’s staying in the servants’ quarters, and she should be well enough to go home soon.”

“A woman just washed up on our beach?  You sure she isn’t a spy for the king?”

Rufus just stands there, as if that thought has never crossed his mind. 

“Well, I’m not sure what she could spy on.  She’s been in bed for two days, and was unconscious when we brought her up from the beach.”

“Find out more about this woman and report back to me.  Don’t let her out of that room,” Flynn instructs.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

**_King’s Keep_ **

King Noah is meeting with his council, waiting for word from the armies of House Preston and House Whitmore.  The siege of the city brings its own issues, such as a dwindling food supply.  The king is new at _actually_ ruling, and is relying upon the wisdom and experience of his Hand, Sir Benjamin Preston, most of all.  After deciding to adjourn the council for the evening, the king asks Sir Benjamin if he can speak to him alone.  The remaining council members file out of the chamber.

“Have you heard news from Lady Lucy?  Did she arrive home safely?” Noah asks.

“No, Your Grace.  There has been no word from anyone in my party.  My man was specifically instructed to send a raven once they had reached Cahilla, and then again once they made it to Rittenfell.  They should’ve been to Cahilla three days ago,” Sir Benjamin responds with a hint of worry.

“Something’s wrong then,” Noah answers, as he takes a deep breath.

“I agree.”

“You don’t seem worried?” Noah questions.

“Of course I am, Your Grace.  She’s my eldest daughter and the future queen.  I sent word to Cahilla to make some inquiries.  I hope to hear something soon.  If I don’t, my wife might just go do it herself.”

“Let me know the instant you have word,” Noah declares.

Sir Benjamin nods and then leaves the chamber.  He wants to know what happened to his daughter too.  And, not just for sentimental reasons either.  He and his wife had groomed and maneuvered Lucy in a way to land all the power in their control.  Lucy would marry King Noah, whom she could manipulate easily.  He would remain Hand of the King, and operate the kingdom as he had for the last three years, to benefit him and his family first.  Lucy’s disappearance put everything in jeopardy.

He hadn’t made it to the main hallway, when his wife came running towards him. 

“Benjamin!”

When she reaches him, he can see tears in her eyes.  She hands him the scroll that the raven just brought.  He reads it, and blankly stares straight ahead. 

“She could have survived.  We don’t know anything for sure.”

“There’s no way she made it through a shipwreck, Benjamin!  What are we going to do now?  Should I have Nicholas send Amy to the capital?”

“Absolutely not!  Calm yourself down.  The king is right back there.  I don’t want to tell him just yet.  I need to think about what to do,” Sir Benjamin replies, as he takes his wife’s arm and leads her down the corridor.

**_Hardstone, Isle of Burgundy_ **

The next morning, Lucy wakes and feels a little better.  She really wants to get out of this bed, and get some fresh air.  The servants bring breakfast for her, and after she finishes, they bring a tub and hot water for her to bathe.  Lucy soaks in the tub for longer than she should, and absorbs the heat into her achy bones and muscles.  _Maybe one more day of resting and then she need to get out of here_. 

Rufus came at lunchtime with food, and sat and ate with her. 

“So, Lucy, where are you from?”

Lucy has to think fast.  She does _not_ want to tell them who she really is. 

“Cahilla,” Lucy replies quickly.  _She was headed there anyway._  

“Oh.  Are you married?”

“Yes.  My husband, Thomas.  We were both on the ship.  Did anyone find him?” Lucy questions.

“I’m sorry. We didn’t find anyone else.  Just you.  Do you have any children?”

Lucy is starting to sense a pattern here, and it’s beginning to dawn on her that she might be being interrogated for some reason.

“No, no children.”

“What does your husband do?”

“He’s a silk merchant.”

At least she’s aware there is a large silk trade in Cahilla.

“I’m sorry.  I can probably arrange for you to take a boat in the morning, if you feel up to it that is?”

“I think I can manage.  I feel a little better with every passing hour.”

“Good.  There’s just one thing you’ll have to do before I can let you leave,” he says, as he looks at his feet.

“Oh?”

“You’ll need to meet the lord here, and thank him for his hospitality.  I will warn you, he’s not the friendliest person, but just thank him and agree with him and you should be on your way,” Rufus explains.

“Okay.”

One more day and she can go home.  Home is just what she needs at the moment.

 

 


	6. The Maid & The Black Blade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy and Flynn come face to face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy your first installment of Garbage Lord Flynn. You can all yell at me, but things will get better (eventually).

**_Hardstone, Isle of Burgundy_ **

Lucy keeps telling herself she can do this the entire way to the great hall.  _Just thank the lord for his hospitality and be on your way_.  _No need to be nervous_.  But she is, and she doesn’t know why. 

When Lucy and Rufus arrive at the hall, a man waits outside the doors for them.

“Lucy, this is my father, Sir Connor Mason,” Rufus says.

“Please to meet you, sir,” Lucy replies with a curtsy.

“Lucy of?” Sir Connor asks.

“Cahilla.  I’m from Cahilla.”

“Alright then.  Lucy of Cahilla, are you ready?”

Lucy nods her head.  She is more than ready to get out of here.  The two large, ornate, marble doors are opened by the two sentries standing guard.  The room is spacious, and its white marble shines like a thousand sparkling diamonds.  Ancient carvings depicting kings of old and their various triumphs adorn the friezes and columns of marble lining the length of the hall.  Lucy is mesmerized by its beauty, and has to remind herself that this was once a throne room for kings, before the capital had been built. 

Despite its beauty, the hall does not emit a welcoming vibe.  It is cold, hard and impersonal.  They definitely got it right when they named this place Hardstone.  She’s so preoccupied with the rest of the room, that the _actual_ throne escapes her mind for a moment.  She looks straight ahead and what she sees is shocking.  The throne is cut directly out of the wall, and is made of the whitest marble she has ever seen.  Delicate filigree scrolls are carved into the throne’s arms and legs, which give it the appearance that it’s growing before your eyes.  It’s not the elegance of the throne that gives Lucy a shock, it’s the man sitting upon it.  Her peripheral vision catches the burgundy and black banners that hang along the sides of the hall, and she prays desperately that the knock she took to her head is making her hallucinate.  She knows _those_ banners.  They’re the banners of House Flynn.  They’re the banners of her enemy.

She stops at the end of the aisle, right before the few steps that lead up to the throne.  Rufus stands a few feet behind her, and Sir Connor is in front of her.  He bows for the king, and then turns around to face Lucy.

“You stand in the presence of Garcia of House Flynn, first of his name, rightful King of Ritten and Protector of the Realm, Prince of Hardstone and the Burgundy Isles, Sentinel of The Shoals, The Black Blade,” Sir Connor announces.

Lucy curtsies and looks at her feet. She does not want to make eye contact.  Just say thank you and get out of there. 

“Your Grace, this is-”

“Lady Lucy of House Preston,” Flynn interrupts.

Lucy’s jaw drops open instinctively, and she quickly slams it shut once she comes back from the shock.

“How-how do you know my name?”

Sir Connor and Rufus stand silently, just as shocked about Lucy having outright lied to them. 

“We met once, many, many years ago.”

“No, we didn’t.  You must be confusing me with someone else.”

Rufus and Sir Connor stand there in fascination at the back and forth banter between the two of them, and their breaking protocol of proper address to boot. 

“My lady, I am positive it was you.  It was at Rittenfell.  I know I haven’t been here for a while, but correct me if I’m wrong, that _is_ still the seat of your house, no?”

“It is, my lord,” she replies, according him the same level of propriety he addresses her with.

“He is _not_ a lord.  He’s a prince-no, a king,” Sir Connor corrects.

“Oh, did I miss the coronation?” Lucy sneers.

“Are you refusing to acknowledge that I _am_ the rightful king of Ritten?” Flynn grumbles.

“I don’t know you, _my prince,_ but you could be as cruel as your father.  Ritten already has a _rightful_ king.  His name is King Noah and he is a good man.”

“A good man?  That’s certainly not what I’ve heard.  Good men don’t kill their fathers.  Men like that don’t deserve to rule,” Flynn yells.

“You don’t deserve to rule either!”

“Oh, is that so?  Please enlighten us, Lady Lucy.”

“So, it’s not okay for someone to kill their father and rule, but it _is_ to kill their wife and child?”

Flynn looks at her for a moment, and then something in his face changes.  He had a slight smirk throughout their repartee, but it turns into blustering blind rage. 

“I _did not_ kill my family!  I would never hurt them, _ever_!  Just another lie told by that king you love so much and families like yours, in order to legitimize their coup,” Flynn snaps.

Lucy doesn’t know what to think.  _Did he really commit those atrocities or not?_  She would never have questioned it before, but now that she knows her own mother was complicit in a murder, well….

“No witty retort to that?”

“In any case, Noah did not kill his father.”

“Noah?  On a first name basis with the king, are we?”

“As a matter of fact, I am.”

“Planning to marry and kill this one too?” he mocks.

Lucy is seeing red.  This man is maddening.  She feels like he is purposefully goading her on, and for some reason she is unable to control herself.  She clenches her fist and digs her nails into the palm of her hand.  She is not going to dignify him with an answer to such a defamatory statement. 

“As far I can see, your only claim to the throne is that your father was king.  King Noah can also make that claim.”

“Watch your tongue, or I’ll have it cut from your head!” he bellows.

She can tell that she’s getting under his skin, if only slightly.  She is unsure how much further she’ll be able to push, though.  She does not know this man, nor how he’s capable of responding.  He could kill her this instant and no one would ever know. 

“Well, we shall see how much your beloved king cares for you.  I thought you might have been different from the rest of your dreadful family.  I guess I was wrong about that.  It’s apparent the only thing you’re capable of, is tarnishing the legacy of your namesake.”

Her namesake, the first Lucy of House Preston, was actually born Princess Lucy of House Ritten. The original inhabitants and kings for which the realm was named, The Kings of Ritten ruled the entire realm for several hundred years, before the inhabitants of the Kingdom of Gallantos crossed the Sea of Cahill, and settled the southern and southeastern portions of the continent, as well as the Burgundy Isles.  They continued their rule of the continent for an additional three hundred years after the Gallanti invasion. Princess Lucy was the daughter of the last Ritten King, Nicholas III, also known as “Nicholas the Nasty.”  Infamous for his barbarism and paranoia, he wielded his brutality as sharply as a freshly forged broad sword. As his savagery continually increased, the other noble houses of the kingdom banded together, and revolted in what is now known as the “Bloody Coup.”  Princess Lucy, who had married the Lord of House Preston, supported the coup of the other houses.  Either as a result of war, outright murder, or some type of mysterious disappearance, House Ritten was completely annihilated.  The only member who was spared was Princess Lucy, due to her fidelity and support of the other noble houses, and her vow to forego revenge on those who killed her family.  She would cease to be known as Princess Lucy, or Lucy of House Ritten, and would subsequently come to be known simply as Lucy of House Preston, taking her husband’s family’s name, even though she was of royal blood.  It was through Lucy that House Preston became one of the great houses.  Some would argue that House Preston is the greatest house of them all.  Still, some said that it was Lord Preston, the Princess’ husband, and his quest for power, that influenced her decision to turn against her family.  Those were only rumors; no one truly knew the reason for her betrayal.  She neither spoke, nor wrote about her decision.  

Lucy always felt the princess was a brave woman.  King Nicholas had gone mad, and he had no sons, only nephews as male heirs.  Said nephews were loyal to their king, and secretly vied against each other to become his named successor to the throne.  Apparently, none of them were viable options for kingship either.  Princess Lucy took the high road, did what was best for the people, _all_ the people, not just the _royal_ people.  Lucy always admired that.  She always wished she could have that much conviction, fire and faith.  And now, this battle axe of a man is just the latest person in a long line to tell her she isn’t good enough. 

Unable to respond, standing there with her mouth agape, Lucy fumes at the slight to her character.  _How dare he!_ Invoking her namesake and insinuating she’s a bad person, just made her even angrier.  His steely exterior, his razor-sharp, cleaving tongue, coupled with piercing green eyes, and an imposing stature are appropriate, since the sigil of House Flynn is two black battle axes crossed on a burgundy field.  She just needs to steer clear from slashes and gashes from it. 

“Perhaps, some time in the dungeon will change your mind.”

Sir Connor is about to say something, presumably in protest, when Flynn holds up his hand to stop him in his tracks. 

“So, I’ve gone from your guest to your prisoner?”

“I prefer hostage.”

“As if there’s a difference?”

“A prisoner is someone who is being held indefinitely.  A hostage…is someone being held for a determinate amount of time.  I would think a lady of your stature would have received some sort of rudimentary education,” he replies glibly.

“I understand the _literal_ difference!  I was speaking more philosophically, in the sense there’s not much of a difference if you’re _‘the someone’_ being held.  Perhaps that’s too much of an abstract concept for your battle-scarred brain to comprehend,” Lucy scoffs.

This _man_ is unbelievable!  He is seriously going to throw her into a dungeon.  He’s living up to his reputation of a brutish thug, not worthy of having any sort of crown grace his head.  She _knows_ he’s dangerous, yet she finds herself unafraid for once in her life.  Maybe it’s the fact that her mother isn’t here to judge her; maybe not.  She will never bow to this brute.  Never.

He glares daggers at her for what feels like an eternity.  Then, without uttering another word, he nods to his guards, and they each grab one of Lucy’s arms and lead her back out of the great hall.

“Put me down!  Let go of me this instant!” Lucy screams, as they drag her down the hallway.

“Your Grace, is that a wise decision?” Sir Connor asks.

“Would you rather I give her the opportunity to murder me in my sleep?  Or, poison my wine?”

“No, Your Grace.”

“This may actually be a blessing in disguise.  We may be able to use her, yet,” Flynn states.

**_King’s Keep_ **

Sir Benjamin Preston and his wife, Carol, are eating their breakfast on their balcony, when King Noah bursts through the door, waving a scroll in his hand.

“She’s alive.  Lady Lucy is alive!” he exclaims.

Carol springs up from her seat, and grabs the scroll out of the king’s hand faster than a bolt of lightning.  Once she finishes reading it, she hands it to her husband.

“She’s a prisoner of the Black Blade.”

“I will kill him with my bare hands if he touches her!” King Noah declares.

“That’s the only way we will be able to get Lucy back,” Sir Benjamin replies.

“You’re right.  He won’t give up his prize so easily,” Carol adds.

“We should storm the castle,” King Noah states.

“Don’t be a fool.  We have no men on the inside this time.  Hardstone is an impenetrable fortress.  Our men would be slaughtered on the beach like fish in a barrel.”

“What do we do then?”

“We need to draw him off the island, funnel his men into a small space where their superior numbers will be meaningless, and kill them.  We need to do to him what he previously did to us.  Problem is, this man is no idiot.  He’s pretty much won every battle he’s been in.  As a masterful military tactician, he will not be easily fooled,” Sir Benjamin warns.

“Then, we need to find someone who is better,” the king responds.

“We may have another option as well,” Carol interjects.

“What would that be, my lady?”

“The ancient weapon my sister has been secretly trying to acquire.  If the rumors are true, it will turn the tide of the war in our favor.”

“Keep me apprised of that situation, my lady,” the king replies.

**_Hardstone, Isle of Burgundy_ **

Lucy is drug down to the dungeon, literally kicking and screaming the entire way.  The guards are holding her by the arms, tight enough that she knows she’ll have bruises to show for it later.  Her arm is still bandaged, and when the guard grabbed her, he’d grazed her wound.  She feels a sharp, shooting pain run down her arm.  The guards toss Lucy into the cell, then shackle her arms to the wall.  She hears the door slam behind them as they leave.  It’s a small, dark and dank cell, with no windows, just dirt-covered walls.  The cell is devoid of any other objects, except for a bucket a few feet from her.  Lucy can’t believe this is happening to her.  Every day since she left home has progressively gotten worse.  Now, she’s the prisoner of some psychotic prince, and she is locked up like a common criminal.  She has _never_ been treated this way. 

When she was little, her Aunt Emma used to call her princess.  She used to think it was a compliment, but now, she knows her aunt had a different connotation in mind.  She acknowledges the fact that she’s lived a spoiled, sheltered life, though.  Her first foray into the real world has been stupefying, astonishing and downright disturbing all at the same time.  This is just one more tale to tell, if she is somehow able to survive this never-ending nightmare. 

She can’t even lay down on the dirty floor, because of the length of her chains.  She can sit straight up with her back against the wall, but has to keep her arms above her head.  Her muscles scream in agony, and her left arm begins to bleed again.  The guard must have broken one of her stitches.  Blood trickles down her arm, and drops off her fingers like the morning dew in a mountain meadow.  The droplets sprinkle the dirty floor with crimson specks.

At first, she’s determined to not let him break her.  But, as the hours transpire, Lucy feels herself growing weaker, both physically and mentally.  Her hands are numb from their hanging position, and the shackles chafe at her wrists.  She is still having headaches on and off from the shipwreck, and now has stretched her body to its utmost limit.  She doesn’t know how anyone will be able to rescue her, nor does she think she will be able to endure captivity for any length of time.  _Can she just lie and tell him what he wants to hear?  Will he let her go then?  Probably not._   She feels like the gods are singularly targeting her, conceivably punishing her for the sins of her mother.  Her life had been so simple before she left home.  Now, it was a daily, waking nightmare with no end in sight. 

She is starting to regret surviving the shipwreck.  She becomes despondent, barely holding onto any semblance of hope that she’s going to survive this.  Her only hope is that King Noah and her parents win the war and kill Prince Garcia.  For some reason, her mind drifts back to her conversation with him in the great hall.  She saw something in his eyes when he denied killing his wife and child.  Something, Lucy is inclined to believe.  _Has everything she's ever read or been told about him been a complete lie?_   She does not think he will make a good king, given how he just threw her down into the dungeon without another thought.  But, she also is starting to feel bad for him.  If he hadn’t killed his family, she can understand the gut-wrenching pain he must’ve weathered.  To have your entire family slaughtered and be helpless to stop it, would’ve driven her right off the proverbial edge.  Lucy has never been more conflicted about her feelings and thoughts.  A raft adrift at sea, with no compass or paddle to guide her, she clings to thoughts of her sister telling her to fight, and Noah telling her to survive.  Fight and survive are exactly what Lucy is planning to do, as soon as she gets some rest and strength back.

The next time she wakes, Lucy isn’t sure if it’s day or night.  Her lips and throat are parched, her limbs scream in agony, and her head pounds like wild horses thundering down the moor.  She starts to believe she is cursed, and that death is inevitable at this point.  She feels drained, dreadful, and detached from reality.  She dozes in and out of consciousness, and thinks she hears growling from the dark, distant corner of the cell at one point.  _Or did she?_   _Is she starting to go mad already?_

At some point, a guard enters the cell and sets down a plate with bread and water.  Lucy can barely reach the cup of water, and some spills out onto the floor, as she contorts in the shackles to grab it.  She scarfs down the stale bread she’s given.  She wants to check her arm wound, but again the shackles constrain her from maneuvering in the proper position.  She can feel the fresh, warm blood, as it oozes down her arm whenever she moves too fast or too often.  Lucy knows that means she has reopened her stitches.  _She will meet her end by slowly bleeding to death.  If that’s the case, she just wants them to put a sword through her and be done with it._  

Two days later, Flynn is speaking to Sir Connor about what they should do with Lucy.

“Your Grace, I am just suggesting that treating her like a common criminal might have been a bit much,” Sir Connor complains.

“Oh?  What should I have done with her then?”

“Perhaps try to win her over to our side.  She might have valuable information about the size of their army, or insight into how the usurper operates, or what makes him tick.”

“Her family participated in the killing of mine.  I don’t need to win her over,” he snaps.

“I am just suggesting another possibility, Your Grace.  Everyone knows that House Preston is the power behind the throne.  If you were to make peace with them, House Neville won’t stand a chance.”

“And, how am I supposed to make peace with them?”

“Well, one easy way would have been through marriage,” Sir Connor suggests.

“Marriage?  Are you _serious_?  She’s the last woman on this continent I would want to marry,” Flynn huffs.

He understood that he might need to marry again in order to secure some crucial alliance in his campaign to retake his family’s throne.  Not even the gods themselves could force him to marry _her_ though.  Anyone, but her will do. 

“Do you not think she is beautiful, Your Grace?”

“Of course.  I have eyes,” he shouts back, a little too loudly for his own liking.

_What is it about her?  She’s maddening.  She is passionate and she has gumption.  It’s the complete opposite of the woman he observed at the inn in Cahilla, who was reserved and quiet.  She speaks to him as if she’s his equal.  She reminds him of his late wife in that respect._  

“She is husbandless.  If you were to marry her, I doubt House Preston would come after their own daughter.  And, if you have a child, well, that will combine your houses by blood.  They will have to support you then.”

“You expect her to just agree to marry me and bear a child for me?” Flynn asks incredulously. 

“Well, not after you threw her in the bloody dungeon, Your Grace, no,” Sir Connor replies, in a sarcastic tone that Flynn really does not appreciate. 

“And, what’s to stop her from marrying me, and then murdering me on our wedding night?”

Sir Connor doesn’t have an answer for him.  The truth is, Flynn has not been able to stop thinking about Lucy since their confrontation two days earlier.  She consumes his thoughts, and he struggles to refocus his energy on his war strategy.  Karl has offered to interrogate her and see if she has any useful information, but Flynn does not want her hurt.  He will speak to her himself. 

He marches down to the dungeon, has the guards unlock the door, and enters her cell.  She’s still asleep, slumped against the wall, with her shackled hands above her head.  She looks ghostly pale and sickly, and a twinge of guilt springs up from within him.

“Why the hell is she shackled to the walls?” he yells at his guards.

The guards just stand there staring blankly back at him.

“I never ordered that.  I ordered you to take her down to the dungeon, not chain her.”

After seeing her in chains, Flynn decides to forego the interrogation.  He orders his servants to bathe and clothe her, and tend to the wound on her arm again.  Once that has been accomplished, the servants are to escort her to the formal dining room to sup with him.

Socializing with women is not exactly his forte.  In fact, if his first marriage hadn’t been arranged, he’s pretty sure Lorena would’ve never given him the time of day.  He's more of an acquired taste; a little rough around the edges, but once you gain his trust, he will forever be your greatest ally.  He is going to try a different tactic with Lucy.  He also wants to see her again.  As much as he is trying to fight it, the dispute with Lucy has invigorated and intrigued him.  Sieges and battles are dull, and she has brought his blood to boil.  Its’s a rush, almost euphoric in nature, that he craves to experience again.  _Why is this happening now?  He doesn’t have time for this.  He is at war._

When Lucy enters the dining room, Flynn, Sir Connor, Rufus, and Kevin all stand up from the table.  She has on the new burgundy dress the servants provided.  It’s silk, with cobra hood shoulders and a square neckline.  His eyes survey her accentuated curves in a lingering gaze.  This is definitely an improvement over the filthy rags she has been wearing for the last two days.  Flynn sits back down first, Lucy follows suit, and then the remainder of the men sit as well.  Although she is clean, she still looks pallid and sickly.  The sparkle and fire he saw in her eyes previously, has been replaced by the lifeless, hollow stare of a doll. 

They all eat their meal in silence.  Flynn will occasionally glance over at Lucy, trying to get a read on her.  She’s a mystery, a puzzle he needs to solve. 

Suddenly, Lucy appears unsteady, even though she is sitting down.

“Are you alright, my lady?” Rufus asks with concern, as he turns to the woman next to him.

“I’m-I’m f-fine,” she mumbles.

“You sure?” Rufus asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Just a little-.”

Lucy suddenly slumps in her chair, head slamming into the table.  Rufus grabs her before her legs give out completely, and holds her upright.

“She’s burning hot to the touch,” Rufus shouts.

“Her wound must be infected,” Sir Connor states.

Flynn stands up, walks over to Rufus, and hoists Lucy up into his arms.  He carries her lifeless body to a guest room on the upper floor of the castle.  Rufus, Sir Connor, and Kevin follow close behind.  Servants are rushing in with boiled water and fresh bandages.  Flynn removes the bandage on her left arm and inspects it.  It’s red, inflamed, and has a purulent discharge seeping from it.  He is no stranger to battle wounds, and knows this is beyond his skill to heal. 

“Rufus, send a raven to House Marri.  Tell them we are in need of a healer immediately.”

As Flynn peers down at Lucy’s lifeless body in the bed, pale with beads of sweat running down her forehead, he can’t help but feel that twinge of guilt again.  If he hadn’t thrown her into that dirty, dank dungeon, perhaps her wound wouldn’t have gotten infected.  Plus, she’s valuable to him as a hostage.  He will do whatever he can to save her life. 


	7. The Healer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The healer arrives to help Lucy. Emma furthers her quest for ancient information. A prophecy reveals itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: there is a semi-graphic medical procedure being performed in this chapter.

**_Hardstone, Isle of Burgundy_ **

Two days have passed since Rufus sent the raven requesting a healer.  Normally, each castle of the realm has its own, but they had just taken this one by force and hadn’t had time to make the appropriate arrangements for a new one.  He stands on the battlements and stares out at the sea.  The waves seem calmer today for some reason. 

Then, in the distance, he spots a ship.  He cannot make out the sigil on the mast, but he hopes it’s the healer.  After visiting Lucy’s room earlier that morning, he’s pretty positive she’s getting worse. 

As the ship enters the harbor, he can see the gold sail with the red phoenix on it, and breathes a sigh of relief.  House Marri has sent a healer.  He just prays it isn’t too late to save Lucy.  He regrets his part in what has befallen her.  If only he had hid her presence better, she may not have had all this happen to her.

He strolls from the battlements down the stone stairs that lead to the beach below.  He can see the ship anchoring in the harbor, and readying the long boats for their journey to shore.  He is to meet and greet the healer as one of the prince’s advisors, and then escort them to meet the prince.  Rufus receives the nomination to this position, as the others were too busy planning their next military incursion to wait around in the scorching sun for a healer. 

Six soldiers clad in red-leather armor pull the long boat from the shallows and onto shore.  A woman is in the boat, cloaked in the traditional red hood of a healer.  He can’t see her face, as the hood is overly large and leaves it veiled in shadow.  He watches as two of the guards help the woman out of the boat, as another two hoist a large trunk from the long boat and tote it up to the beach.  The woman approaches him, as her guards flank her on all sides.

“Welcome to Hardstone, my lady,” Rufus announces.

“Thank you.  The raven said it’s urgent.  Where is my patient?”

“This way, my lady,” Rufus replies, as he extends an arm towards the stone stairs.

Without a reply, she walks towards the stairs, as her men trail behind her.  Rufus jogs lightly to catch up.  They climb the stairs in silence, and make their way across the battlements to the barbican.  The guards give the signal, and the portcullis is lifted, as the procession proceeds into the castle courtyard.  Servants from House Flynn dart out of the castle to attend to the lady’s trunk.  Rufus leads the woman through the maze of corridors of the keep to the great hall. 

“What is your name, my lady, so that I may announce you to the prince?” Rufus asks.

“Jiya of House Marri, eldest daughter of Lady Denise Marri and Sir Ian Montgomery.”

The large doors to the great hall open, and Rufus leads her down the aisle to the bottom of the steps before the throne.  His father stands to the side of the throne, and the prince is sitting on it, in the midst of some type of deep discussion.  Rufus clears his throat, and the two men turn to them.

“Your Grace, may I present Jiya of House Marri, eldest daughter of Lady Denise Marri and Sir Ian Montgomery.”

Flynn parts his lips, and is about to address the lady, when Sir Connor begins his spiel of titles.

“You stand in the presence of Garcia of House Flynn, first of his name, rightful King of Ritten and Protector of the Realm, Prince of Hardstone and the Burgundy Isles, Sentinel of the Shoals, the Black Blade.”

The woman removes the hood of her cloak, revealing her long, dark, wavy, brown hair.  She curtsies and when she does, Rufus spies the red and gold organza gown she wears underneath it. 

“Your Grace.”

“Lady Marri does me a great honor in sending her eldest daughter.  I only sent for a healer, I did not mean to trouble _you_ my lady.”

“It is no trouble, Your Grace.  My mother sent me because many of our healers traveled with the army to the siege.  There is also another sensitive matter than I must discuss with you, but that can wait.  Where is the patient?” Jiya asks.

“Rufus, please show the lady to our guest and ensure she receives anything she needs.”

“Your Grace,” Jiya says, as she curtsies once again and then turns to Rufus.

When Rufus gets a full on look at her face, he distinctively stops breathing for a moment.  She is absolutely beautiful.  So much so, that he just stares dumbfounded at her, until he realizes what is happening and snaps out of it. 

“Right this way, my lady,” Rufus advises with a gesture of his hand.

He leads her through the corridors, occasionally reminding himself to breathe whenever she’s close, as his heart races and his palms sweat.  Once they reach the chamber door, Rufus opens it to find Kevin keeping his vigil over Lucy.  Jiya steps into the room, and drops her bag in horrifying shock, once she gets a glimpse of her patient. 

“Lucy!” Jiya gasps, as she rushes towards her.

She grabs Lucy’s cheeks and looks deeply into her eyes.

“You know her?” Rufus asks in confusion.

“Yes.  How long has she been like this?” Jiya demands.

“She’s been unconscious for two days now, but she’s been sick for longer than that.”

“She’s lucky I got here when I did.  Had you waited any longer, she would be dead.”

“We tried to treat her injuries, but-”

“How did this happen?” Jiya questions sternly.

Rufus explains the entire story, including the part of Lucy spending time in the dungeon.  The look she gives in response to that particular detail, tells him everything he needs to know: she is livid. 

“I need boiled water, clean swaths of cloth, silk thread and a needle, and lots of candles,” Jiya instructs.

Rufus turns to make sure the servants heard the list of required items, when Jiya adds one additional one.

“I need rum too.”

The servants scramble out of the room to gather the respective items, as Rufus watches Jiya scrounge through her bag.  She pulls out a mortar and pestle, along with an assortment of potions and herbs in small vials and jars.  As she crushes the selected herbs into a powder, Rufus and Kevin watch with intense interest.

“Can I ask what you’re using to treat her?” Rufus questions.

“Right now, I’m grinding down catmint.  It’s a mild sedative.  She’s going to need stronger, but this is all I have.  Thus, the request for the rum.”

Rufus nods his head, as he watches her pound the catmint to a pulp.  She grabs a small, glass jar, opens it, and adds the contents to the mortar.

“This is comfrey.  It’s mostly used to heal broken bones, but it also has tissue healing properties,” Jiya explains, as she continues to grind the herbs down.

She reaches for the next jar she has lined up on the table, but Kevin hands it to her.

“Thank you.  This is burdock.  It’s actually how I met Lucy.  It only grows in The Glen.  It detoxifies the body.  It should help remove the toxins and excess fluids.”

When she stops crushing the herbs, Kevin hands her the last jar from the table.

“Last, but not least, pennywart.  Its main use is for wound healing,” Jiya says, as she adds the last of the dry ingredients. 

Once she pounds and grounds all the herbs down into a powder, she takes two of the small vials of liquid on the table, and adds the appropriate amounts of each to the mortar, which creates a green, goopy looking paste.  By this time, the servants are returning with the requested items.

“I will need lots of light.  Light as many of the candles as you can,” Jiya instructs, as she begins to remove Lucy’s old bandage. 

The servants scramble to work, and the candles illuminate the room in an amber glow.  Had the circumstances been different, it would’ve been very romantic.  But, the circumstances aren’t different: they’re dire.  Lucy clings to life by the smallest of margins.  They need to work fast if they’re going to stave off this infection.

“Rufus, was it?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“I don’t think this is a place for your little brother right now.  I’m going to have to cut out the infected tissue.  It’s going to get very messy, very fast,” Jiya advises.

Rufus nods in understanding, and ushers Kevin out of the room, despite his insistent protestations otherwise.

“I need something for her to bite down on, and I’m going to need four strong men to hold her down.  Perhaps, you can get some of the soldiers to assist us.”

“Rufus and I will hold her down,” a booming voice says from the doorway.

Rufus and Jiya both turn to look out of reflex, since both of them are infinitely aware who the voice belongs to.  Rufus finds it shocking that the prince would bother to check on their progress to begin with, let alone agree to help. 

Prince Garcia has two of his men hold Lucy’s legs, and Rufus and he each take an arm.  Jiya sterilizes the small knife she has by burning it in the candle.  She takes a swig of the rum herself, then puts the wooden spoon into Lucy’s mouth, as she begins to cut her wound open again.  Virulent, yellow pus drains from the arm, as Jiya slices into the muscle.  As she does, Lucy screams and writhes in agony.  As Jiya proceeds, the wooden spoon slides out of Lucy’s mouth. Jiya sees it, and the prince places it back into her mouth, while still holding down her left arm with one hand.  There is a great deal of blood, and Jiya has the servants use some of the clean linen to sop up the excess, so she can continue to remove the dead tissue. 

At some point during the grueling process, Lucy passes out from the pain, which enables Jiya to work faster.  She packs the wound with the green, goopy paste she fabricated earlier.  She spreads more of the paste on strips of cloth, covers the wound, and then wraps it again with the remainder of the clean cloth.  As she wipes the sweat from her brow, she gazes down at Lucy’s lifeless body and breathes an audible sigh. 

“You’re not going to stitch it?” Rufus asks in confusion.

“No.  It’s too large of a wound.  I can’t stitch it yet.  It needs to breathe.  Once I see there’s healthy tissue growing, I’ll stitch it then,” Jiya explains.

They all stare down at Lucy with forlorn looks.

“I’m afraid I may have been too late.  The corruption spread further than I had anticipated.”

“Is there anything else you can do?” Prince Garcia inquires.

Jiya eyes meet the prince’s with an eerie, icy glare.  There is something in them, some glint of mischief perhaps, that Rufus picks up on.

“Out!” the prince shouts.

The servants and soldiers scatter, and Rufus turns to leave as well.

“Not you, Rufus.”

“Because it’s Lucy, I will do this.  But, only because it’s Lucy.  She’s my friend, she’s a good person, and I will do what I can to save her.  I can perform a healing spell, but I will need to take energy from you both,” Jiya advises.

Rufus looks nervously at the prince.  _What the hell is about to go down, and what exactly has he just been signed up to participate in?_  

“I’ve seen these spells performed before,” the prince declares.

“Then, you realize it will not be pleasant for you.  Are you sure you are willing to do this?”

“Question,” Rufus states, as he raises his hand.  “Exactly how unpleasant is this going to be for me?”

“It is painful,” Jiya confesses.

“Take as much from me as you can.  Go easy on Rufus if you’re able,” the prince specifies.

Rufus’ shock from this noble suggestion leaves him stunned.  The prince has never shown any inkling that he gives a crap about him.  _Why now?  Maybe it doesn’t have anything to do with him at all_?  Rufus shakes that thought out of his head immediately.  The prince despises Lady Lucy.  She’s just a strategic pawn to him, nothing more. 

Jiya digs through her medicine bag, and pulls out two red candles that have been used previously, judging by the amount of wax that has dripped onto their sides.  She instructs the men to take Lucy’s hands in theirs.  The red candles are lit, and Jiya drips the hot wax on each of their hands, before taking a small bit and smearing some on Lucy’s forehead.  She then joins hands with the prince and Rufus, and begins chanting in a language Rufus has never heard uttered before.

“Ater anitatem perium emina.  Anibus uo erum onum.  Ater udite ostrorum rationis.  Gentle mother, we ask that your healing power be bestowed upon this woman.  I join hands with two beings that offer their gift to her.  Gentle mother, hear our prayer,” Jiya chants.

At first, Rufus only feels a slight tingling as Jiya begins the chant.  By the time she has gotten through the first verse, he is in utter agony.  He feels like he’s being stabbed repeatedly in his hand, side and leg.  He glances at the prince.  Although he can see from his face that he is truly in pain, he remains his usual stoic self.  Rufus can only tell from the slight winces the prince gives into every so often.  Jiya chants the words two more times, and with each recitation the pain grows more intense.  He tries to pull his hand away from Jiya’s.

“Do not let go, yet!” she yells at him.

Once she finishes her chant, the candles blow out on their own accord.  Rufus has seen cheap parlor tricks and sleight of hand before, but never _actual_ magic.  The pain subsides to a dull ache, and Jiya finally informs them that they can let go. 

Once their hands release, both Rufus and the prince slink to their knees and need time to regain their composure.  Prince Garcia stands a few moments later, and shakes off the aftershocks that pulsate through his body. 

“Now what?”

“Now, we wait.”

**_Rittenfell_ **

Lord Nicholas Preston does not expect her arrival.  Lady Emma Whitmore planned it that way.  Always a methodical mind, she knows the element of surprise will work to her advantage.  Only a handful of men accompany her, as she canters into the inner bailey like a conquering hero without the fanfare.  She dismounts from her steed, and saunters her way into the great hall not bothering to wait to be announced.  Lord Nicholas rises from his seat, waltzes across the hall, and greets her with an amorous embrace.

“Hello, darling,” Emma states with a smirk.

“I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Change of plans.  Plus, I thought you might prefer an update _in person_ ,” she says suggestively.

Nicholas extends an arm, Emma accepts it, and they walk into a side chamber and shut the door behind them. 

“So, what are my maniacal brother and your sister up to now?” he questions.

“They’re firmly embedded with our new king.  Just like you planned, my love.”

“Yes.  And, I hear our niece is a prisoner of our enemy.  That is definitely a pleasant surprise.”

“Not really.  The king is-quite attached to her.  I do not think he will take to the idea of a different bride.  He feels insulted, cheated.  It has been useful in motivating him thus far, but he is vulnerable,” Emma explains.

“Good.  Have you found a suitable replacement for Lucy yet?”

“I think I may have.  We will need to proceed cautiously.  I will let you know.”

“And, our other endeavor?  Have you mentioned it to the king?”

“In passing.  He only knows we’re looking for an ancient weapon.  He told me to keep him apprised.  Obviously, he will be told what you decide I should tell him.”

“Good.  How did your other project in the capital fair?”

“It went as well as could be expected.  They’ve located the vault, and I have the book, but the last few pages are missing, scattered across the ancient libraries of this continent.”

“Thus, your visit.  Do you think I did not have the library here checked first?  It’s not here.  It may have been at one time, but there is nothing here like that,” he bemoans.

It takes every fiber of her being to not snap back at this immeasurable ass.  She clenches her fingernails into her palms, and silently counts to five in her head. 

“Do you know where the other ancient libraries are located?” she quips.

He looks back at her with a semblance of pride and disdain.  She has a point, she’s made it, and he knew it.  Rittenfell’s library could contain clues of the whereabouts of these ancient libraries.  She loves when she is able to smugly throw her intelligence back in his face. 

“Now, if you don’t mind, my love,” she states, as she runs a finger down his spine, and circles him, “I’m going to commence my research in _your_ library.”

As she turns to leave, Nicholas grabs her wrist, and pulls her into a passionate kiss.

“I look forward to seeing you in my chamber this evening.”

She smiles a sultry stare back at him, and disappears into the corridor.

**_Shadowspear-2 years ago_ **

Shadowspear has been the ancestral seat of House Bruhl since the realm became a kingdom, which accredited their claim of being one of the oldest houses.  They were never a house who had an interest in the politics of the realm, or constant backstabbing that occurred as a result of those political entanglements.  Instead, House Bruhl focused its attention to the more scientific aspects of life.  There were even whispers that they had even delved into the mystical arts of magic and witchcraft, although no one had ever uncovered any proof of such activities. 

Shadowspear is located on the southwestern border of The Crags, and abuts by the Sobbing Sea on the western side.  The Crags are bordered on the east by The Glen, the northeast to The Tundra and the southwest to The Knoll.  The remainder of its territory is encircled by the Sobbing Sea.  

The Crags are a land of rocky mountains, leading to cliffs that plummet into the sea.  The River Keynes is the southern border of the territory.  The land contains forested areas, as well as huge formations of boulders and quarries, rich in natural ores and resources.  Shadowspear was named after the mysterious black stones used during its construction.  They are alien to the area, though historians record the original inhabitants found them lying along the coastline and incorporated them into the castle.  It’s a large castle, compared to many others in the kingdom, and is surrounded by large curtain walls of the same alien black stone.  It has two towers, and four turrets that seem to rise into the sky.  

The library at Shadowspear is massive, and encompasses an entire turret from below ground to the top of the tower.  Narrow, spiral, wrought-iron staircases are the only means of obtaining entry to each specific floor. 

Lord Anthony Bruhl pours over the dozens of manuscripts littering the table.  He’s figured out some time ago that much of the wisdom of the ancients is scattered about the continent, insuring that no one region, or house, became too powerful again.  He also understood that through diligence and painstaking, meticulous tenacity, one could acquire such ancient knowledge. 

One such particular book that he stumbled upon five years ago, led him to these ancient manuscripts.  At first, he did not want to admit that the magical and mystical existed.  As he delved deeper into the subject, he found the evidence hard to disprove.  Magic existed.  Mystical creatures existed.  Prophets and seers are not all just madmen and madwomen. 

One such prophetess of the ancient world, called Tallica, captivates him the most.  Her predictions seem to play out over the generations in a most accurate manner, if one can decipher the clues and hidden meanings in her prophecies.  She has repeatedly warned against trying to control the mythical beasts of the realm, and that doing so spelled certain doom.  It’s a shame no one bothered to listen.  Instead, they executed her out of a specious, superstitious fear, and hatred of things they didn’t understand.  They most likely regretted it soon thereafter.  Half of the ancient population of the continent was decimated by rival practitioners of magic waging war with dragons, manticores and griffins.  Little is known now about how these beasts were finally defeated, and many rumors and stories have been heard and manufactured over the years. 

Anthony has spent much of his life involved in the study of magic, science and knowledge, and understands that each have their own properties, rules and taboos.  He has been able to essentially tap into the realm of magic, and his meticulous study of the practice enables him to acquire a vast knowledge.  It’s this connection that facilitates the warning he just received.  The balance in the world has shifted, and magic is reawakening, with three-fold its previous power and might.  Tallica warns about this in an ancient scroll.  But, she has also prophesized a way this might all be prevented. 

**_Forged by fire,_ **

**_From ashes a hero shall rise,_ **

**_To dispel the doom,_ **

**_Of our demise._ **

**_Veins that course,_ **

**_With the blood of kings,_ **

**_Shall ride the tides,_ **

**_That war shall bring._ **

**_An ancient power,_ **

**_Awoken from slumber,_ **

**_Balance unrestored,_ **

**_Shall tear us asunder._ **

**_The fellowship of four,_ **

**_A sacrifice of the blade,_ **

**_The cost to be borne,_ **

**_The debt repaid._ **

The prophecy would mean little to anyone else, but Anthony knows as soon as he reads it that it has too many similarities with a certain individual to be coincidence.  The more he reads it, the more he’s sure he has to do something about it, lest the entire world suffer in return.  A sense of duty goads him on, and he lies to his family and his bannermen, and informs them he has business in The Dunes.  In a way, it isn’t a complete lie.  His business is secretive, and it needs to stay that way. 

So, he travels to The Dunes, and speaks to the only other person he can trust when it comes to magic, Lady Denise Marri.  She concurs with his assessment, and clandestinely assists in his hunt for this promised one.  However, when they find him, Lady Marri informs Lord Bruhl that this man cannot possibly be this hero that was foretold.  Anthony acknowledges that the man, in his current state, is not, but if sent down the correct path, could become the hero this world needs.

Undeterred, Lord Bruhl travels to Riya, an eastern city-state on the continent of Gallantos, where he purposefully bumps into him in the city’s market. 

“Hello, old friend.  It’s time we talked.”

 


	8. The Blood of Kings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anthony tries to convince Flynn to avenge his family. Flynn and Jiya have a discussion about Lucy. Emma makes a historic discovery.

**_Riya-18 months ago_ **

The eastern city-state of Riya is the last bastion of civilization on the continent of Gallantos.  It’s glistening, high, adobe walls blend into the surrounding desolate landscape with a seamless ease.  Beyond Riya, stretches a wasteland as far as the eye can see.  The wasteland separates the continent from the lands to the east, which bring tales of strange beings and strange magic.  Many pilgrims and curious travelers congregate in the city, prior to journeying into the wasteland.  A treasure trove of travelers descend upon the city on a constant basis, so no one will question Anthony’s presence.  He has been purposely waiting to make contact with his old friend, until he is in a place that he can blend in and make an escape if need be.  When his friend turns up in Riya, Anthony knows it’s the perfect opportunity.  The city sprawls out over a vast area, and its markets are not just renowned for their exotic spices, silks and sapphires, but for their infamous, narrow, labyrinth-like alleyways.  Anthony has taken a considerable risk in attempting to find this man in the first place, so it is incumbent upon him to find him as quickly as possible.  If someone spots Anthony with him in the open, this endeavor will wind up being all for nothing. 

The group of mercenaries are easy to track, and when they enter the maze of the eastern market, he hurries to make his move.  The mercenaries split off into smaller groups, as they peruse the wares of the marketplace.  Anthony pulls his hood tighter, as he weaves his way through the crowd towards the blacksmith stalls.  He knows better than to approach him from behind, lest he wants a blade to this throat in response, so he sidles his way to the stall and stands next to him. 

“Hello, old friend.  It’s time we talked,” Anthony half-whispers.

The man turns to him slowly, his right hand gripping the hilt of a dagger in his jacket pocket.  Anthony turns as well, which allows the man to get a good look at his face.

“Anthony?  What the hell are you doing here?”

“We need to talk.  It’s important.  Is there somewhere we can go that’s secure?” Anthony questions, as he scans the area again for curious onlookers. 

“Are you in some sort of trouble?”

“Flynn, I’ll explain it all once we’re alone,” Anthony replies with a slight growl.

Flynn nods, and turns to the man to his left.  He whispers something to him that’s out of Anthony’s earshot, and then turns back.

“Follow me,” Flynn instructs.

Anthony shadows Flynn through the bustling market, until they reach a side exit that shoots off into one of the city’s residential neighborhoods.  The thick, brown, adobe walls surround them, as they turn down a small alleyway and into a shabby, run-down house.  Flynn motions to Anthony to have a seat at the table.

“You wanted to talk, then talk.”

He should have been expecting this type of reaction.  The prince is a soldier, not a diplomat.  When he looks into his eyes though, he barely recognizes the man that stares back at him.  It has been a long time since Anthony has seen him, but he never remembered him being this gruff.

“Your Grace, I found something of great import that concerns you immensely,” Anthony states cautiously.

“Don’t call me that,” Flynn snaps.

“But you _are_ the rightful King of Ritten.  What would you have me call you then?”

“Mercenary.  It’s what I am.  I’m no king.  My father was king.  My brother should have been king, but I was never meant to sit upon any throne.  You’ve come a long way for nothing, I’m afraid.”

“Even so, I don’t consider it nothing when I have come to pay my respects to our beloved Queen Maria.  Your mother was an amazing woman.  I knew her well.  Which is why I also knew I had to come and see you once I found what I found.  Your mother was a believer in the end you know.”

“I know that _somehow_ you were able to convince her to abandon rational thought,” Flynn quips.

“Magic is not rational.  Magic is elemental, emotional, natural.  Our world was once filled with it, until the rise of the Ritten Kings.  Their abuse of magic led to its confinement and eventual burial.  Until now.  Magic is stirring from its slumber.  I have felt it.  And, it calls for you, Your Grace,” Anthony relates with conviction.

“Anthony, what are you babbling about?  I really don’t have time for this.”

“A prophecy.  I believe you are the hero that is referenced within it.  If you do not do this, no one will.  And, it won’t matter where you’re hiding.  You won’t be able to hide from this.  It is the great doom of our time,” Anthony answers.

“A prophecy?  Seriously?  You’re as delusional as that other guy,” Flynn laughs.

“What other guy?” Anthony questions in a panic.

“Sir Connor Mason.  I saved his son and he recognized me.  Keeps bugging me to raise an army and avenge my family.  I told him I wasn’t interested.”

“Since you have an obvious death wish, and continue to hurl yourself into battle after battle, why not do that while avenging your family at the same time?  You will be helping the people as well.  Let us help you.  You have allies back home,” Anthony pleads.

Flynn still seems disinterested.  Anthony sits, and goes through every single line of the prophecy with him.

“Your Grace, the fifth and sixth lines of the prophecy state that this hero will have the blood of kings.  You are the last Flynn, the last descendant of that royal bloodline,” Anthony entreats.

“My family has not been the only royal family.  Who is to say this prophecy doesn’t refer to an eastern king?” Flynn retorts, as he’s grasping at any straw he can muster.

“The next two lines talk about how this hero shall ride the tides of war.  Who else but a seasoned soldier would be able to do that?” Anthony replies, as he becomes slightly indignant.

“Well, what about the end where it talks about the fellowship of four?  I don’t have three allies,” Flynn rebukes.

“Not yet.  You have House Bruhl and House Marri.  We will need to convince one more great house to join our cause.  You let me and Lady Marri worry about that.”

Flynn exhales sharply with an audible sigh, as he shakes his head in disbelief.  It takes longer than Anthony expects to finally convince the prince to raise an army to avenge his family.  Sir Connor Mason plays a huge part in this process.  Together, they’re able to take a drunken disaster of a man, and turn him into a sober, semi-disaster of a man.  (They both agree there is much more work that needs to be done, but time is of the essence, so it’ll be a work in progress).

**_Hardstone, Isle of Burgundy_ **

Jiya sits next to Lucy’s lifeless body, and applies a second round of her treatment to the wound.  She definitely sees signs of improvement, which encourages her tremendously.  Now, she just needs Lucy to wake up.  She has just reapplied the bandage to Lucy’s arm, when Rufus and Kevin enter the room. 

“How is she?” Rufus asks.

“The wound is healing slowly, but she hasn’t regained consciousness yet,” Jiya answers, as she looks back at Lucy.

“Well, do you mind if Kevin sits and reads to her for a while?  He has to practice, and he insists he’ll only do it in here.  Plus, last time he did this Lucy woke up.”

“That’s fine.  Kevin, please remember not to touch her bandage.  If she wakes up, you need to come and get me right away, okay?” Jiya asks with a stern look on her face.

“Yes, milady.”

“Yes, _my_ lady,” Rufus corrects.

Jiya smiles back at Rufus.  It reminds her of when she has to correct her brother and sister. 

“His Grace would like to see you anyway,” Rufus announces.

“I need to speak to him as well,” Jiya replies with an ominous tone.

She stands suddenly, and waits for Rufus to lead her to the throne room.  As they walk down the corridor, silence falls over both of them.  It isn’t as if she isn’t friendly, but the thoughts of her sick friend preoccupy her.

“How did you learn what ingredients you needed to treat Lucy?” Rufus asks out of the blue.

“Years of learning, training and practice.  My mother says I used to patch up animals when I was little.  I guess it’s something I’ve always wanted.”

“I am just amazed by your skill.  You dove right in there with no hesitation.”

“I had to.  A healer learns early that time is precious, and can be the difference between life and death.  But, I did hesitate slightly when I saw it was Lucy.  I never had to do that for a friend before, only soldiers on the field of battle,” Jiya responds, as she stares straight ahead. 

“How long have you known Lucy?”

“Since we were children.  I accompanied my mother on a trip to Rittenfell.  Lucy and I played together while I was there.  We wrote to each other for years after that.  I have gone back a few times over the years.  Sadly, her mother never let her come to Castle Christopher.  She would’ve loved it,” Jiya muses.

“There’s still time for her to see it,” Rufus replies, trying to be optimistic.

They reach the throne room by this point in the conversation.  Jiya makes for the door and Rufus quickly jumps in front of her.

“Wait!  You have to be announced,” Rufus exclaims.

“I was already announced on my arrival,” Jiya states, as she pushes passed him and opens the heavy throne room door.

Rufus rushes after her in a panic, but no one is in the room.  He hears voices coming from the war room, through the side door that connects the two.

“This way, my lady,” Rufus beckons.

As they enter the chamber, the prince is sitting, as Sir Connor shuffles back and forth between scrolls and maps. 

“Your Grace, Lady Marri.”

“Out.  All of you,” Flynn yells.

Sir Connor and the two guards scuttle out of the room quickly, and Rufus bows and turns to leave when Jiya speaks up.

“Your Grace, may I ask Rufus stay for a moment.”

Flynn glances at her with a puzzled expression, but acquiesces.  Rufus appears even more confused than Flynn.  Once the door is closed, Jiya turns to address both men.

“I need to make clear that what you both saw and participated in the other day can never leave this room.  It is forbidden to practice magic.  I broke a sacred vow for Lucy and _only_ Lucy.”

“Understood.  If any of the servants ask, Rufus and I will tell them you said an ancient prayer.  Will that be sufficient, my lady?” he inquires.

“Yes.  Prayers are fine.  I just need assurance this will not be repeated.  I have trained too long and hard to have my healer status stripped from me.”

“If Rufus tells anyone, I’ll kill him myself.  Happy?” Flynn sasses.

“Not happy,” Rufus responds.

“You can leave now Rufus.  Unless the lady has any more business with you?”

Jiya shakes her head in response, and Rufus bows and ducks out of the room with lightning speed.

“How worried should I be, Your Grace?”

“About Rufus?  Not at all.  I’ll tell him you’ll turn him into something unnatural.  He won’t say a word,” Flynn teases with a smirk.

Jiya has never met the prince before, only her mother has.  Try as she may, she hasn’t been able to pin him down yet.  He seems to be very concerned with Lucy’s condition, yet he is the one mostly responsible for said condition.  She figures it is guilt that led him to call for her presence here, but there was something else in his eyes when she performed that spell.  Something she felt, but couldn’t quite describe.  

Jiya has heard the stories about “the black blade” just like everyone else.  She finds it hard to reconcile those stories with the man sitting next to her right now.  He obviously has a sense of humor, albeit a dark one, judging by his interaction with Rufus.  She never doubts he’s a great warrior.  He wouldn’t have survived this long when everyone wanted him dead, if he wasn’t.  She isn’t some naïve child any longer, and she openly wonders if her mother has chosen the correct side of this war.  She acknowledges that he’s the rightful king by birth, yet also wonders what kind of king he will be.  He already has one strike against him for having thrown Lucy into a dungeon and almost killing her.  He has also saved her life; the life of an enemy.  As a healer, she is beholden only to the sick, regardless of which house they belong to.  Jiya has always been curious by nature, so when the king summoned a healer, she leapt at the opportunity.

“Your Grace, I assume you read the scroll my mother gave you from me?”

“I did.  Please do not take offense to this my lady, but I have never put much stock into prophecies and visions.”

“I understand your skepticism, Your Grace.  However, I have never had such a clear vision before.  All of my visions come to pass.  Always.”

He stops dead in his tracks after she says it, and peers up at her with a curiosity she has not previously witnessed. 

“Usually, they are just flashes of images, but with yours…”

“What about mine?”

“There weren’t any images.  I went into a trance and began writing.  I have never had that happen before.  Three times it happened, and all three times I wrote the exact same thing.  You need to be careful. The betrayals I spoke of will occur if you are not vigilant,” she warns.

Sometimes, people need to hear it straight from her mouth before they even consider believing her.  This appears to be one of those times.  Jiya isn’t exactly sure what he looks for while he searches her face, but whatever it is, he must find it.  He nods in response, and looks back down at the map in front of him.

“May I ask you a question, Your Grace?”

“You may, my lady.”

“Why would you lock Lucy up in a dungeon?  She’s not a threat to anyone.”

“Uh….”

Flynn shifts nervously in his chair, as his eyes flit back and forth from Jiya and the map.

“She’s a Preston.  They were complicit in my family’s extermination.  They’re all threats.  The only good one is a dead one,” he snaps.

“That’s not true, Your Grace.  Lucy is a good person.  She has no political aspirations.  She’s nothing like the rest of her family.  She taught the children in the castle and the local villages to read and write.  And, when her mother found out and forbade it, Lucy snuck out and did it anyway.  She just wants to help people,” Jiya explains.

“She refuses to acknowledge me as her sovereign, she refuses to address me in proper protocol, and she refuses to provide any useful intelligence,” he scoffs.

“She’s doing what honor demands of her.  Her house is aligned with House Neville, so she must play her part.  You must understand, her mother has controlled her entire life.  Marrying the king would have finally allowed her some freedom.  Of course she’d fight for that,” Jiya responds with annoyance.

“I had no intention of leaving her in the dungeon.  I just wanted to scare her a little.  And, I definitely did not order for her to be shackled,” he states emphatically.

“That’s good to know, Your Grace.  I don’t know if I could support a king who threw his subjects into dungeons without even a whiff of a trial.”

“I wasn’t holding her as a prisoner.  She was a hostage during wartime.  You may not like it, my lady, but war is brutal, savage and not for the faint of heart.  Sometimes, you have to do things in war that you would never do in times of peace.  Sometimes, you need a leader who can be vicious.  Tell me, if you’re entire family was executed, how vicious would you be to avenge them?” he asks with sincerity.

Jiya shakes her head in response.  “I don’t know, Your Grace.  I hope I never have to find out either.  I am a healer, not a warrior.  The taking of life is against my oath; nor is it within my nature.”

“Who knew such a tiny woman could be so fierce?” Flynn chuckles.

It almost appears to Jiya that he is briefly remembering his encounter with Lucy.  He seems to be amused by the whole thing.  He is definitely a hard man to read, and she suspects that there are layers upon layers one would need to bulldoze through in order to really know him.  She chuckles back, as she remembers the first time she met Lucy.

“Fierce is not exactly a word I would use to describe her.  She’s always the cautious one.  Her sister, Amy, is definitely fierce though.  She always challenges Lucy to take risks, live a life in the sun instead of one hidden in the shadows.”

“Well, she was without a doubt fierce the day we met,” he replies with another chuckle.

“If there is nothing else, Your Grace, I should look back in on my patient.”

“Very well,” he answers with a wave of his hand that dismisses her.

**_Rittenfell_ **

Emma has poured over volume upon volume of ancient scrolls and books in search of the location of the ancient libraries.  She knew this wouldn’t be an easy endeavor, but she will not be deterred.  She has been planning this plot with a meticulous obstinacy and will see it through. 

Night has fallen in the castle, as she plods on.  The ancient people were quite intelligent, and they went to great lengths to keep their knowledge hidden.  As she scours a particular stack of scrolls, she finds a mention to an ancient library at Shadowspear, the seat of House Bruhl.  This presents a problem, but not one that is insurmountable.  As she digs further into the ancient tomes, she finds another reference to a library on Hardstone.  This is most definitely a larger problem than Shadowspear, but again, not impossible given that the majority of House Flynn’s army is already off the island bogged down in battle on the continent. 

Midnight sets in before Emma finds the last location.  Well, she finds the mention of a location.  The _actual_ location is going to be a major impediment to her plan.  A certain scroll mentions Aurelia.  It is an account by an ancient healer, who had traveled there and mentioned this impressive library.  This confounds Emma.  Aurelia is a myth, a legend; a story told to every child in the realm.  It was the capital of the ancient people who first lived here, whose power, wisdom and magic had created a world of perfect prosperity.  A fairytale.  Never before has anyone (to her knowledge, anyway) found any actual proof of the existence of this city.  For hundreds of years explorers have searched the Phantom Forest for the fabled fortress of old, yet none have ever found it.  In truth, many of those explorers never made it back to tell their tales either. 

It isn’t known as the Phantom Forest for no reason.  Literally the border between The Glen and The Dunes, the forest is filled with magnolia, cypress, and oak trees dripping with Spanish moss.  The Spanish moss gives the place a haunted and eerie atmosphere.  Most assume that this is where the name originates, but ancient stories and rumors among the northerners (the peoples of The Glen and The Tundra) believe it derives its name from the ghosts of ancient practitioners of magic.  Those who dare travel there and return, speak of unexplainable experiences and events that befell them while they were there.  In other words, it is the most haunted place on the entire continent. 

The part that floors Emma more than anything, is that the forest isn’t some never-ending pit.  It has a clear beginning, middle and end.  If Aurelia truly exists, why hasn’t anyone found any trace of it yet?  How is she supposed to accomplish what no one else in hundreds of years has done?  It’s while she ponders this dilemma, that Nicholas enters the library in search of her. 

“You’re still at it?”

“Well, I have found some answers.  I found something earth-shattering too,” Emma responds with a raised brow.

“What?” he asks curiously.

“The ancient libraries are in Shadowspear, Hardstone and Aurelia.”

“Aurelia?  That’s ridiculous.  Aurelia doesn’t exist.  It never has,” he laughs.

“Nicholas, I found an account from a healer who went to Aurelia, and he mentions the library.  His description is very specific.  Why would he lie in his own private journal?”

“Does he describe where it’s located?  Because, if not, his description is essentially useless.”

“Not necessarily.  I can try to match the landscape.  How many waterfalls can there be in that forest?”

“And, your plan to obtain the rest of the spell from castles that our enemies currently occupy?”

“Currently being the optimal word.  Hopefully, they won’t be occupied by our enemies for much longer if our other plan comes to fruition.  Speaking of that other plan, I need to prepare.  Our timing needs to be impeccable.  Arrangements need to be made ahead of time,” Emma states matter-of-factly. 

“I love it when you scheme,” Nicholas replies, as he pulls her close and kisses her.

Emma smirks back at him, as the thoughts swirl around in her head.  Meticulous planning is her specialty.  Her older sister taught her that when she was very young.  Now, the student has become the master, despite Carol’s protestations otherwise. 

**_Hardstone, Isle of Burgundy_ **

Lucy strains to open her eyes.  She feels awful, and the sun shines directly into her face from the window.  There is a woman and a young boy sitting in the room, and she labors to get a better view of their faces. 

“Lucy!”

“Jiya?” Lucy asks in confusion.

It looks and sounds like her friend, but there is no reason she would be on this miserable island. 

“Lucy, thank the gods!” Jiya proclaims.

“Jiya?”

“Yes, it’s me.  How do you feel?”

“Awful.  What happened?”

“You almost died!” Kevin yells from the chair in the corner.

“Kevin?”

“Yes, my lady.  I hope you liked the stories that I read to you while you were asleep.”

Lucy is unable to respond at first.  She stares at Jiya and blinks her eyes.

“I’m sure she did, Kevin.  Why don’t you go let your brother know that Lucy is awake, huh?” Jiya suggests.

Kevin nods his head, and bounces out of the room and down the corridor.

“Jiya, you have to help me get out of here,” Lucy whispers.

“Lucy, you’re in no condition to go anywhere right now.  Concentrate on getting better, and then we’ll talk.”

“You don’t understand.  They locked me up in the dungeon,” Lucy rasps.

“I do understand.  Nothing is going to happen to you again.  Nothing.  I’ve made sure of it.”

“Jiya, it’s not safe here.  I don’t want anything to happen to you.  You need to leave,” Lucy pleads.

“I need to make sure you heal.  That’s my job, and I’m not going anywhere until I complete my job.  Plus, they’re watching me like a hawk.  I couldn’t help you even if I wanted to,” Jiya whispers.

Lucy slinks back down into the fluffy pillows in defeat.  She doesn’t think her friend would lie to her, but she finds it hard to believe that no further harm will befall her here.  She has to heal, and be ready for any opportunity to leave.  She needs to get back to Noah and her family. They are probably sick with worry about her.  Plus, the prince makes her blood boil.  She despises this man with every fiber of her being, and can’t wait until Noah defeats him once and for all. 

 


	9. A Dance of Discord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy overhears a conversation that gives her pause. Company arrives at Hardstone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two so deserve each other. They're both acting like drama queens.

**_Hardstone, Isle of Burgundy_ **

Lucy’s arm has healed enough that Jiya is able to finally stitch it closed.  She’s nowhere near one hundred percent yet, but she feels much better.  She is still technically a hostage, but has free reign to wander about the castle and island if she chooses.  No one will stop her, because she can’t leave even if she wants to.  Guards watch the harbor and rocky shores all around the island.  She also cannot row any boat with basically one arm.  So, Lucy decides to make the best of a bad situation.  She spends most of her time with Jiya and little Kevin, as well as some of the household staff.  She avoids the prince and anyone else close to him. 

One afternoon, the hustle and bustle of the castle staff intrigues her, and she wanders into the throne room, while the prince and his inner circle lunch in the main dining room.  Well, at least that’s what she thought.  Unbeknownst to her, Prince Garcia, Rufus, Karl and Sir Connor still occupy the war room, which is a room off to the side, and well within her view and earshot.

“He has to do this right now?” Sir Connor fumes.

“He doesn’t trust that Anthony will honor his commitment when the war is over.  It’s fine.  I have a lot to discuss with Anthony anyway.  I’ll go to Shadowspear for the wedding, and then meet up with you and Karl, at the siege.  We take the capital before winter arrives or we’re screwed,” Flynn declares with authority.

_Finally.  Some movement._ If only they would leave.  She might be able to get out of here after all.

“How are we on provisions?” Sir Connor asks Karl.

“The men are well-fed.  They’ve set up the siege towers and trebuchets, and have dug the trenches.  The city is primed to fall soon,” Karl responds with pride.

“How are the men so well-fed this far into the campaign?” Rufus questions with an air of incredulity.

“We’ve been… _gifted_ food by the country folk,” Karl answers with a smug smirk.

“You mean you’ve been stealing it,” Rufus mutters, as Sir Connor shoots him a death glare.

“Who the hell gave you permission to do that?” Flynn thunders.

Lucy’s taken aback by his reaction to say the least.  Why does the ultimate warmonger care about the atrocities his soldiers commit on the common people?  As much as the prince makes her blood boil most of the time, there are times he completely surprises and exceeds her expectations.  This seems to be one of them. 

“Rufus, you are a damn genius!” Flynn declares, as he slaps a hand onto Rufus’ shoulder with force.

“I am?”

“The people are starving in the city.  We have food.  We need to spread the word that we will help feed them if they agree to fight for us.  And, there is to be no more stealing of food.  You will pay for it at a generous price,” Flynn instructs.

Lucy has to admit that it’s a brilliant strategy.  The people of King’s Keep will flock to his side, thus weakening King Noah’s stronghold.  He will be viewed as a hero.  If only she can get word to King Noah, warn him somehow. 

Lucy slowly backs out of the throne room as quietly as possible, and makes her way back to her room.  She doesn’t know when this wedding is that the prince spoke of, but she hopes and prays it’s soon.  She needs to get off this island. 

Perhaps, it’s tonight.  Three ships arrived in the harbor earlier that day, and the household staff continues to run around with a frenzied fervor.  She tries to stop one of them to ask what is happening, but it’s as if she’s invisible, their minds only focusing on the task at hand.

Hours later, she takes a walk with Jiya down to the beach.  They walk and talk, as the last rays of the sun dance over the water.  Lucy is glad she has Jiya’s company.  She would’ve lost her mind if she didn’t. 

When they make their way up to their rooms, (which happen to be next to each other), they find two of the servant girls waiting for them.  Lucy and Jiya share an uneasy glance at each other, both unsure of this scenario.  The servant girls each have a dress, with accompanying jewelry, in their arms.  They are to dine with the prince this evening.  

Jiya shrugs her shoulders, and enters her room to change into her new dress.  Lucy is less enthusiastic about the entire thing, but eventually succumbs to the request.  Jiya’s gown is a wrap dress made of red silk, with gold brocade and angel sleeves.  A wide, golden belt and gold, filigree earrings with a matching ring accompany the dress.  Jiya is very flattered when she sees it, and cherishes the opportunity to wear something other than her standard red healer dresses. 

Lucy’s dress is an off-the-shoulder, burgundy, silk gown.  It has a v-neck collar with a decorative gold bar that connects the dress to the long, hanging, cape-like sleeves.  The bottom of the gown has wide, sunburst pleats, and the top and sleeves have an embroidered herringbone pattern.  The jewelry that accompanies the gown is even more elaborate.  The earrings are also in a herringbone pattern, and consist of gold and rubies.  A matching bracelet and ring complement the earrings.  Lucy has never seen such gigantic gemstones in her life.  Her mother hasn’t even worn jewels that large. 

Jiya reappears in Lucy’s room, clad in her new dress.

“You look amazing!” Lucy declares.

“Why aren’t you dressed?” Jiya asks in confusion.

“Jiya, what is this?” Lucy yells angrily, as she picks up the silk gown.

“It’s a dress, Lucy.”

“You know what I mean.  First, he throws me into a dungeon, and now he decides to shower me with silk dresses and jewels?  Where did these things come from?  They better not be his dead wife’s things,” Lucy declares, as she throws the dress back onto her bed.

“My lady, His Grace had these dresses and jewels imported from the east.  They were specially ordered for the both of you,” one of the servant girls states in response to Lucy’s question.

“What?  Why?” Lucy questions.

“I don’t know my lady.  His Grace ordered several dresses,” she informs them.

Lucy cannot fathom the prince’s reasoning behind this.  It makes no sense.  It provides no strategic advantage.  It only reminds her of Noah and her family; it reminds her of what being queen would have felt like.  _Is that his plan?_   _Make her feel like a queen so she will betray Noah?_  

“I think you both have more in common than you may realize.  Give it a chance, Lucy.  He’s not as bad as I first thought he was,” Jiya pleads.

Lucy flings the dress on, then endures the servant girls braiding and pining her hair in an elaborate up-do.  Finally, she slides the jewelry on her wrist, finger and ears.  She feels ridiculously overdressed, and is more than a little uncomfortable.  Jiya continues to rave over how beautiful she looks in the gown, as soldiers escort them passed the royal dining room towards the great hall.  Both women raise an eyebrow, and gingerly continue down the corridor. 

When they reach the great hall, they’re greeted with the sounds of music, laughter and loud conversation.  More confused than they were before, they approach the door and find that Sir Connor awaits them. 

“It’s about bloody time you finally decided to grace us with your presence, my ladies,” he mutters as he bows.

The great hall is littered with foreign dignitaries, accompanied by a bevy of beautiful women.  Food flows from the tables like honey from a hive.  Musicians strum their harps and lyres in one of the corners, as servants shuffle from table to table, and guests mingle on the outdoor terrace. 

“I’m going to introduce you, one at a time,” Sir Connor instructs, as he shoves Lucy back from the door.

Lucy huffs loudly in annoyance, but waits for her turn to be announced.

“Your Grace, Lords and Ladies, may I present Jiya of House Marri, daughter of the late Sir Ian Montgomery and Lady Denise Marri.”

After Jiya enters the hall, Lucy moves to be announced next.  Sir Connor pushes her back again, this time with a lighter touch.

“Listen.  No funny business tonight.  _Do not_ embarrass His Grace.  _Do not_ mention you’re a hostage.  You’re a guest here, just like the other high-born ladies.  Break these rules, and I can personally guarantee you will not enjoy the consequences,” Sir Connor warns.

Lucy swallows visibly in fear, but nods her head in agreement.  In what feels like an eternity later, although is most likely a few minutes, Sir Connor signals for her to move closer to the door. 

“Your Grace, Lords and Ladies, may I present, Lucy of House Preston, daughter of Sir Benjamin Preston and Lady Carol Preston,” Sir Connor announces.

Lucy steps inside the great hall, and the audible gasps and tension are as combustible as fire and oil.  _Everyone_ gawks at her, and she’s immediately self-conscious.  Instinct tells her to turn and make a mad dash to the door, but her feet stand firmly planted in place.  She scans the room nervously to find Jiya, but locks eyes with the prince instead.  Dressed in a formal, black tunic with burgundy silk trim and black pants, his green eyes sparkle like a grassy meadow on a sun-kissed morning.  His permanent glower pivots into a glorious smile.  Time stops.  He is the only other person in the room for a fleeting moment, and then, poof, it’s gone. 

She feels a tug on her arm, and turns to find Jiya and Rufus, tucked in a corner away from most of the partygoers. 

“Lucy, over here!” Jiya calls.

“I see you two are being subjected to this evening’s blood sport as well,” Rufus jokes.

“What in the name of the gods?” Jiya asks.

“Apparently, my father has decided to throw a feast in our new king’s honor in the hopes of attracting a bride, and an additional army to our cause,” Rufus whispers in response.

“So, what in seven hells are _we_ doing here then?” Lucy questions with indignation.

“Decoys to sweeten the pot.  Plus, you’re both guests, and it wouldn’t be proper if you didn’t receive an invitation to a feast,” Rufus explains.

“Excuse me?” Lucy snaps with wrath the furies would envy.

Rufus starts visibly sweating, and Jiya physically turns Lucy to face her.

“Calm down.  Just eat and drink and dance with whomever.  We can make fun of these idiots throwing themselves at him.  The prince will be leaving soon.  You may have a window shortly,” she whispers into Lucy’s ear.

Lucy rolls her eyes, and takes a goblet of wine from one of the servants.

“So, who’s my competition?” Jiya asks Rufus with a deadly serious expression on her face.

Rufus appears horrified she would even consider this ridiculous spectacle.  Lucy and Jiya stand there expectantly, and wait for Rufus to provide them with the required information.

“Alright, fine,” he mutters, as he waves his hand towards himself to draw them in closer.

Lucy and Jiya giggle, and lean in so they can hear Rufus as he whispers.

“The one over near the musicians in the yellow dress is Cheraine of Riya.”

Lucy and Jiya turn to find a small, slender woman, with shoulder-length, curly, black hair, black eyes and an olive complexion.  She is beautiful, and she exudes an exotic air.

“The one by the front door in the pink is Palestrys of Letira.”

They turn to the opposite side of the room, to find a woman of average height and weight, with long, straight, silver-blonde hair and violet eyes.  She is very pale, even in comparison to Lucy.  _At least she’s a northerner.  How are you that pale from the land of sunshine?_  

“And the one in the blue?” Jiya asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Jeniah of Scapa.  She’s rumored to be the most beautiful woman on the entire continent of Gallantos.  They also have the largest army,” Rufus informs them. 

Their attention spins to the woman at the center of the great hall, surrounded by a throng of men.  She is tall and curvy, and has long, wavy, brown hair, with haunting blue eyes.  For once, it appears that the rumors are true.  Lucy isn’t too proud to admit she’s the most beautiful woman she has ever seen.  The other women must think so as well, since there are stink eyes all around. 

The servants announce that it’s time to feast, and the guests are seated accordingly.  The prince sits at the high table with Sir Connor, Rufus and Jiya.  In fact, Jiya is given the place of honor right next to him.  Lucy is resigned to sit at a table with the contingent from Letira.  _At least she doesn’t have to sit next to him._

Conversation remains sparse throughout the meal, and there is an awkward air to the entire table.  Lucy feels as if she’s facing a head to toe inspection the entire time, yet whenever she turns to look at the prince his eyes are elsewhere.  _Is she imagining the entire thing? Is her mind playing tricks on her?_   She definitely doesn’t imagine the condescending looks the other women are giving her though.  _Maybe she can feign being ill?_  

Once the food is consumed, the tables are moved to the sides of the hall to allow for dancing.  Lucy has attended her fair share of balls since she was young, but she has never been the most coordinated of people, so dancing isn’t her favorite thing to do.  She finds a spot in the corner, and Rufus finds her side shortly thereafter. 

“Let the madness begin,” he whispers.

Lucy laughs in response, as the musicians play on.  Jiya has to dance with the prince first, as his honored guest, and every time they waltz by Rufus and Lucy can barely contain their laughter. 

Once the dance is complete, Jiya joins them on the side of the hall.

“I don’t know what in seven hells you’re laughing at,” Jiya complains, as she grabs a goblet of wine from one of the servants, “you’re going to have to dance with him sooner or later.”

“The hell I will!” Lucy declares, as she takes a sip from her goblet.

“I suggest you do what’s expected of you before you wind up back in the dungeon,” Sir Connor states from over Lucy’s shoulder.

Lucy rolls her eyes, and takes another gulp from her goblet.  _At least the wine is really good._  

“And you,” Sir Connor says, as he points to Rufus, “You should be out there practicing.  You need to be a better dancer if you’re going to serve in the king’s court.”

Sir Connor turns and offers his arm to Jiya, and she politely accepts it for the next dance.  Rufus shuffles his feet and turns awkwardly to Lucy, unsure of how to bridge the obvious subject.

“Let’s go,” Lucy declares, as she sets her goblet down and grabs Rufus’ arm. 

It is utterly graceless at first, but Rufus finally manages to get the hang of it, as he twirls Lucy around the dance floor.  They both chuckle throughout the dance, innately aware that neither of them will be winning any dance contests any time soon.  Still, they try to have fun with the entire ordeal.  Somehow, she winds up dancing right next to the prince.  He is dancing with Lady Jeniah, the woman who has every man in the room’s attention.  She appears to find him intriguing, and the two are blatantly flirting with each other.  _Good.  Let her deal with him_. 

The dance ends, and Lucy resumes her perch on the side of the hall, as Jiya dances the next song with Rufus.  She feels someone next to her, and is shocked to see Lady Palestrys. 

“Seems you’ve caught the prince’s eye,” Palestrys whispers to Lucy.

_Yeah, the eye of his wrath._

“Oh, I doubt that,” Lucy replies confidently.

“He couldn’t keep his eyes off of you when you were dancing with his advisor,” she announces.

“What?”

“You heard me,” she whispers back.

“That’s impossible.  I saw him out there with Lady Jeniah.  He seemed quite taken with her.”

“I’m curious, my lady, why you are the only woman here who is not clad in the colors of your house?  House Preston’s colors are still green and purple, are they not?” she quips.

Lucy honestly hadn’t really noticed before, but as she scans the hall she discovers that Palestrys is correct.  She is the only woman dressed in other colors.  _The bastard dressed me in the colors of his house!_   Lucy is livid, but she has to keep her emotions in check.

“Yes, they are.  It was a last minute thing, my attendance,” Lucy replies.

Palestrys crooks an eyebrow in response, apparently finding Lucy’s excuse unconvincing.

“I suspect it’s also why it appears he is saving the last dance for you.”

Lucy hadn’t paid attention to that either.  He had already danced with Jiya and Jeniah, and currently was accompanying Lady Cheraine.  She stands right next to the only other woman who has yet to dance with him.  If he chooses Palestrys for the next dance, she is going to be even angrier than she is currently, which is already reaching a boiling level.  _This jackass is doing this on purpose!_  

When the prince’s dance with Lady Cheraine ends, he strolls over to where Palestrys and Lucy stand, and extends his hand to Palestrys.  She shoots Lucy an “I told you so” glance, and then takes his hand.  Lucy panics, and tries to slip out of the hall without anyone noticing.  Of course, her guard dog, Sir Connor, spots her and puts an abrupt end to that idea.  She is just going to have to endure this stupid dance with this obnoxious man and deal with it.  At least it will afford her the opportunity to give him hell.  The music ends faster than Lucy anticipates.  She feels the anger as it wells up within her.  She is not about to make this a pleasant experience for him. 

As the people in the room come together with their partners for the last dance, he appears at her side with a mile-wide smirk on his face.  He extends his hand, and Lucy reluctantly accepts.  He pulls her close, and grips her a little too tightly.  Lucy feels every pair of eyes in the entire room on the two of them.  She must’ve made a face at him, because he loosens his grip on her slightly.  For as dangerous a man as he is, if she’s being honest with herself, she actually feels safe and protected in his arms.  His gaze never wavers, yet he remains silent, as he spins her around the great hall. 

“You’ve got some nerve smirking at me like that,” Lucy states forcefully through gritted teeth.

He chuckles with amusement at her obvious annoyance.

“Lady Preston, I’m sure I have no idea what you’re referring to.”

She is seething right now, ready to slap the smirk off of his ridiculously handsome face.

“Don’t play coy with me!  You dressed me in your house colors!”

“Purely an oversight, my lady,” he answers with a shrug.

His ambivalence towards her confuses her more than anything.  He appears to have intentionally arranged for her to be in his house colors, but there’s a flicker of doubt.  She can’t read him worth her life.  He could’ve just lied through his teeth, and she would never know.

“You look… _good_ in burgundy,” he whispers into her ear.

Lucy’s eyes blink and her mouth gapes open, but nothing comes out.  This man gets under her skin like no other.  She closes her mouth, and stares daggers back at him, which to her dismay, only seems to encourage him.  _What the hell does he want from her?_  

The next thing she realizes, the music has stopped, yet she’s still in his arms.  She glances up at him from under her lashes, and finds him in full smirk mode.  She extricates herself from his grasp, and joins Rufus and Jiya on the side of the hall.

The remaining guests mill about, as Sir Connor corners the prince at the main table. 

“So, Your Grace, do you have a preference?”

“Do we really need more men?” Flynn grumbles in response.

Sir Connor sighs in annoyance.  “More men will be helpful, Your Grace.  I understand your reluctance, but we did discuss the need for a political alliance, if you recall.”

“Yes, I remember.  I only hesitate because I’m not sure how the people of this country will respond to a foreign queen.  Especially, when my enemy offers them the alternative of a woman who hails from the oldest family in the kingdom, and is a descendant of ancient royalty.”

Sir Connor falls silent for a moment, as he takes in what the prince’s words.

“Well, I suppose that might cause an issue.  Your only other option would be my original proposition.”

“What original proposition?” Flynn questions, as he takes a sip from his goblet.

“Marrying Lady Preston and impregnating her immediately.”

He chokes on his wine, and coughs for a few moments before he regains his breath.

“I will definitely be murdered in my sleep.”

He can’t deny his attraction to Lucy.  Her fire, her passion, her intensity; it stirs his blood in a way that makes him feel alive for the first time in years.  He doesn’t know whether he loves or hates her.  He had accepted a marriage match the first time, when he was only a prince with no possibility to ever sit upon the throne.  He had been lucky then.  If there was one thing being a king was good for, it was that _he_ will pick his next wife.

“I’ll think about it and announce my decision when we return from Shadowspear,” Flynn advises.

“You cannot delay the inevitable, Your Grace.”

“I’m well aware Sir Connor, you don’t need to remind me.”


	10. The Shield & The Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Prince and his party arrive at Shadowspear for the wedding. Two houses are joined. An uninvited wedding guest causes chaos. Wyatt learns some disturbing information.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I know Jessica's brother's name in the show is Kevin, but so is Rufus'. Since we've already had little Kevin, I changed Jessica's brother's name to avoid confusion.
> 
> As always, comments are very appreciated.

**_Shadowspear_ **

For a reason she isn’t even entirely sure about, the prince requests that Jiya accompany him to the wedding of his former brother-by-law, Sir Wyatt Logan.  Irrespective of the reason, she is glad for the opportunity to see her mother and her former mentor, Lord Bruhl, again.  She spent a considerable amount of time at Shadowspear during her healer training, and picked up a thing or two that she swore to never divulge to another living soul.  She’s kept that promise.  Perhaps it’s this reason that the prince requests her presence.  Does Lord Bruhl desire her attendance? 

As they sail along the southern portion of the Sea of Cahill, Jiya stands on the ship’s deck and idly gazes at the coastline.  It’s a three-day journey to Shadowspear, and as much as she despises sailing, she knows it is the fastest way to get to their destination.  The trip will take them passed her homeland of The Dunes by the next morning.  Of all the places she has been across this continent, home is always calling her. 

By the next morning, they have sailed along the Dunish coastline, and have now entered the rough seas of the west.  They call it the Sobbing Sea for good reason.  Unlike the more tropical Sea of Cahill, the waters of the Sobbing Sea are denser, colder and darker.  Ships routinely are blown out to sea by storms, and more than a fair share have wrecked over the years. 

Luckily, they don’t encounter any problems on their voyage, and they arrive at Shadowspear the following morning.  The black stone behemoth juts above the shoreline like crystals from a cave wall.  Jiya has fond memories of this place, and hopes to have one more by the time she leaves. 

Once they disembark the boat, they climb the long and winding road to the castle gates.  As they turn the last corner, the two towers glisten in the dawning rays of the day.  The processional continues through the castle gates, and Lord Bruhl and his household greet them in a majestic manner.  Anthony pulls her in, and gives her a huge hug.

“Jiya!” he beams.

“Lord Bruhl,” Jiya replies, as she curtsies.

“Anthony.  Call me Anthony,” he instructs.

Next to Anthony are his children, Jessica and Aevin.  Jessica embraces her in a tight hug.  They became close while Jiya studied there.  Her friend looks radiant on her wedding day, even if she knows that Wyatt is not Jessica’s first choice. 

Unlike her father, Jessica is ambitious, and aspires to marry into another great house, particularly a royal one.  House Logan is a smaller house, even if they are the liege lords of The Knoll, but they aren’t considered a great house, like House Preston or House Flynn.

The grounds are littered with an overabundance of flowers, and the black banners emblazoned with an orange sun, the sigil of House Bruhl, flow gently in the morning breeze.  The black field represents the black stones of Shadowspear, and the orange sun represents light and life. 

Although she is from House Marri, she’s here officially as the king’s guest for the wedding, so she is ushered to the most luxurious of the guest rooms the castle has to offer.  This is definitely not what she’s used to, yet she isn’t going to complain about her recent extravagant accommodations. 

Sir Wyatt Logan has been waiting his entire life (well what feels like it anyway) for this day.  He can still vividly remember the first time he saw Lady Jessica Bruhl.  He had been newly knighted, and was attending a tournament at Shadowspear, tilting the lists with the other knights.  She was so distracting, he almost fell off his horse during the joust.  He knew his prospects of marrying her were slim to none, but he lusted after her nevertheless. 

His father, Lord Landry Logan, had squandered a good portion of the family’s accumulated wealth, ever since his mother, Katherine, passed away.  Things got even worse once his sister, Lorena and his niece, Iris, were killed.  His father refused to even speak their names, and the tension between House Logan and House Flynn grew exponentially.  If it had been up to him, he would have joined his brother-by-law and started a war to avenge them.  His father would have none of it, and he controlled House Logan’s army.  Wyatt had no say and his father made sure he knew it. 

Finally, all those years later, his former brother-by-law makes his miracle wedding a reality.  He knows the king is annoyed with him for the timing of the wedding, but Wyatt refuses to wait one more day.  He stands there, on the steps of the altar in the small temple, clad in his off-white doublet with light brown embroidery down the chest and sleeves, copper clasps and dark brown trousers, and waits for his bride to be. 

The outer doors to the temple open, and he glances up to find Lord Bruhl with Jessica by his side.  His breath sweeps out from his chest, as he watches her descend the stairs in her champagne-colored sleeveless gown.  The gown has a plunging neckline, embroidery with purple and orange flowers, beading, and a long train that trails behind her.  The dress clings to her curves in all the right ways.  _She is angelic_.  He takes her hand in front of the priest, as Anthony sits in the front row.  They walk hand-in-hand up the three steps to the altar. 

“You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection,” the priest instructs.

Wyatt drapes the cloak over Jessica’s shoulders. 

“Your Grace, my lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife,” the priest declares.

Wyatt stares at Jessica, as he memorizes every inch of her face.

“I bring before you, Wyatt of House Logan, son of Lord Landry Logan and Lady Katherine of House Drummond, and Jessica of House Bruhl, daughter of Lord Anthony Bruhl and Lady Alice of House Arnold.  Take each other’s hands and say the words,” the priest advises.

Wyatt and Jessica take each other’s hands.  Wyatt speaks first.

“I am hers and she is mine, from this day to the end of my days,” Wyatt states proudly.

“I am his and he is mine, from this day to the end of my days.”

“You may kiss the bride,” the priest declares, as he taps Wyatt on his shoulder.

Wyatt wastes no time and kisses Jessica.  The crowd erupts in cheers.  They descend the stairs with their hands clasped together, and stroll out the temple door down the pathway back to the castle. 

Sir Connor Mason loves weddings.  Truly.  Everyone forgets all the troubles of the world for one evening and comes together to celebrate young love.  Well, at least love on one of the parties’ part in this case.  He knows that Lord Bruhl will spare no expense for his only daughter’s wedding.  That means that the finest wine will flow freely throughout the evening, and there will be more food than an army can possible devour. 

At one point, he imbibes too much of said wine, and excuses himself from the hall to relieve his aching bladder.  As he’s pissing in an alleyway, he feels the presence of another person, but thinks nothing of it, until they stop directly behind him. 

“Good evening, Sir Connor.  Might we have a word?”

Sir Connor finishes his business, and turns to find a man step out of the shadows.  He’s clad in all black, but his clothes are expensive, and his gray hair shimmers in the moonlight. 

“Who the bloody hell are you?” Sir Connor slurs back in response.

“My name is Sir Benjamin Preston.  I have a proposition for you.  Do not be afraid.  I mean you no harm and I am unarmed,” he declares, as he holds both arms up to illustrate his lack of weapons. 

“You’re Sir Benjamin Preston?  The Hand of the King, Lord of Rittenfell?  That Benjamin Preston?” Sir Connor asks in disbelief.

“I am indeed.  May we talk for a moment in private?”

“I don’t know what you could possibly have to say to me.”

“You’d be surprised at the things I’ve accomplished in my lifetime.  I have made kings rise and fall.  I can do it again.  I also have the power to make you one of the wealthiest men in the entire kingdom.  The power to make your legacy something to be proud of.”

“Go on.”

“Your sons will have lordships and have advantageous matches.  Plus, do you really think this disaster of a man will make a good king?” Lord Preston questions.

“What exactly are you offering?”

“If you betray Prince Garcia, I will be able to persuade the king to grant you any one of a number of castles from houses that sided with him, a lordship, and more gold than you could ever hope to count in your lifetime.”

Sir Connor stares back at him silently.

“Will _he_ give you all of that?”

“What do you need me to do?” Sir Connor asks.

“In order for me to trust you, I want you to kill someone close to the prince.  Prove to me you’ve chosen sides once and for all,” Lord Preston instructs.

Flynn approaches the happy couple as they enter the great hall.

“Congratulations.  May you be blessed with many children and years of happiness,” Flynn states half-heartedly.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Jessica answers as she curtsies.

“Well, I sure as hell will make sure I take better care of her than you did your own wife,” Wyatt snaps.

His words cut deep.  He and Wyatt have never gotten along well, but for Lorena’s sake they had remained civil in their dealings.  Now that she is gone, Wyatt does not hold back his criticisms. 

“Say that again, and you won’t live long enough to consummate this marriage,” Flynn warns.

“You should’ve been with them, not in the capital that day!  Why the hell did you leave them unprotected?” Wyatt asks, as tears form in his eyes.

“They _were_ protected!  I would’ve done anything to have saved them.  Deep down, you know that in your heart,” Flynn yells.

A good number of wedding guests stop dead in their tracks, and stare at the tense exchange between the two men.  Jessica places her hand on her husband’s arm, which distracts him long enough to allow the prince to walk away.  _If only he knew the entire story, maybe Wyatt wouldn’t blame him as much._  

A few hours later, and after too many glasses of wine, Flynn decides that he needs to get a certain something off of his chest, and this might be the only opportunity in quite some time to accomplish this task.  As he sees Lord Landry Logan leave the great hall, he follows.  Unbeknownst to him, Wyatt also notices, and follows the both of them.

As Lord Logan reaches the corridor outside the hall, the prince grabs him forcefully and shoves him into an empty antechamber. 

“What-What is the meaning of this?”

Flynn slams him up against the wall, as he holds him by the neck.  “Don’t play dumb with me old man.  You know what you did, and now, so do _I_!” Flynn declares, as he squeezes tighter.

Lord Logan gasps for breath, and finally Flynn releases his hold on the man. 

“I don’t-I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Lord Logan stammers.

“You knew about the coup, and you did nothing.  You could’ve warned Lorena.  They would’ve had time to escape.  Instead, you let your own daughter and granddaughter be slaughtered like animals!” Flynn yells, as his face flushes red with anger.

“She ceased being my daughter the day she married you!”

Wyatt had followed them, yet remained outside.  He listens intently to the entire conversation.  This is not the sort of news he expects to receive on his wedding night.  It takes every ounce of self-composure to not burst into the room and demand his father explain this.

“And Iris?  Your own granddaughter?  She was only five years old!”

Lord Logan stands in silence. 

“Unbelievable!  How you managed to produce an amazing woman such as Lorena, I will never know.  What sort of man allows his own family to be murdered for some gold?  I should slit your throat right here and now,” Flynn threatens, as he closes the space between them again.

“Do it!  My son will avenge me, and your little campaign will crumble,” Lord Logan scoffs.

“Your son is a great many things, but he has more honor in his finger than you have in your entire body.  Your son _loved_ his sister and niece.  Of that I am sure.  How will he react when I tell him about what you’ve done?”

Wyatt finds it hard to believe what his ears are hearing.  His father could’ve prevented his sister and nieces’ deaths?  And, the prince knew this and never bothered to convey this information?  He fumes with rage, as he feels the venom in his veins.

“He’ll never believe you.  He blames you,” Lord Logan spews with hate.

“Do you think I don’t have proof old man?  You may have been able to keep it hidden all these years, but the truth always finds a way.  He’ll believe me,” Flynn responds, more than pleased with himself.

Flynn flicks his dagger in a silvery flash faster than a viper’s strike across Lord Logan’s throat. 

“Stay out of my way old man, or you will find yourself at the end of this blade again,” Flynn threatens.

“Coward!”

“There are two reasons I won’t kill you…for now.  First, because Lorena wouldn’t want me to.”

“And, the second?”

“Death is too good for you.  You deserve to suffer for what you’ve done,” Flynn answers, as he strolls out of the room.

Wyatt hides in the doorway of another room, as Flynn disappears down the corridor.  He needs some time to process this, and his head is spinning in every direction at the moment. 

“There you are my love!” Jessica calls to Wyatt, as he stands motionless in the corridor outside the great hall. 

Wyatt looks up to see his new bride with a concerned expression on her face. 

“It’s time for my father’s toast.  Come,” she instructs, as she slides her arm under his and leads him back into the feast.

He smiles back at her, and struts like a peacock with her on his arm.  _Although she wasn’t in love with him, she has to admit that her circumstances in life could’ve turned out worse._   She’s positive that her father would never marry her off to some brutal tyrant.  Nor did it hurt that Wyatt is quite good-looking.  She’s naturally nervous about consummating the marriage, but the anxiety seems to ease the more she plies herself with wine.  They retake their seats at the head table, as Lord Bruhl stands and raises his wine goblet.

“Your Grace.  I would like to thank you for attending the nuptials of my only, beloved daughter, Jessica.  I would also like to thank all of the lords and ladies who took time out of their busy lives to help us celebrate this momentous occasion.  To the happy couple,” Anthony announces.

“To the happy couple,” the guests respond in unison before they take sips from their wine.

“Your Grace, shall we commence with the bedding ceremony?”

Jessica prays the prince will agree to forego this silly tradition.  On the other hand, every new bride has to endure this humiliation, unless their new husband forbids it.  The smirk on Wyatt’s face tells her that is not likely to occur tonight.  The prince looks at Wyatt, grins and then turns back to Anthony.

“By all means, let us bed them!” Flynn exclaims.

The wedding guests erupt in raucous cheers, as they stand from their seats.  The single ladies surround Wyatt, and walk him down the main aisle of the hall, as they unbutton his doublet.  The single men pick up Jessica, and carry her on their shoulders down the aisle after them.  And for one night, love is celebrated and war is forgotten.

Jiya wakes in the middle of the night.  Her dreams have been strange of late, but this one, this one is clearer, like one of her visions.  She finds it difficult to breathe.  She climbs out of her bed, and opens the shutter.  Her eyes drift towards the sky.  She shivers with fear, as she spies a blood moon.  Something dreadful either happened, or is about to happen.  She grabs her dressing robe and throws it on, as she steps into the corridor barefoot and all.  The king’s guards are startled by her frazzled appearance, and the hour of her disturbance.

“Is His Grace alright?” she asks with raspy breath.

The guards stare at each other, and then stare back at her as if she has gone mad. 

“Seven hells!  Check!” she shrieks.

The guards burst into the prince’s room, and confirm immediately that the prince is alive, and well, annoyed.  Panicking still, Jiya runs down the corridor towards her mother’s room.  Her mother heard the commotion, and opens the door seconds before she’s about to crash it down. 

“What is-”

“I had a vision and there’s a blood moon.  If not you, and not His Grace, than who?” Jiya questions to herself aloud.

She stares at her mother, as the prince clamors down the hallway towards them.

“Anthony!” Jiya yells, as she runs towards the lord’s chambers.

Her mother, the prince and his guards (and pretty much the entire household of guests by this point) pursue her down the corridor.  She flings open the doors to Anthony chamber and screams.  Jessica and Wyatt, hearing the commotion, push passed the onlookers, and storms into the chamber. 

“Father!” Jessica shrieks, as she holds his lifeless body in her arms.

Wyatt kneels next to Jessica, unsure of what to do.  Jessica’s brother, Aevin, drops to his knees next to his sister in tears.  The Prince, Denise, Jiya and Sir Connor are poised in the doorway, horrified at the sight of their friend, dead on the floor.  Vomit and foam spew from his mouth, as Jiya kneels on the opposite side of Jessica and inspects the body.  A wine goblet lay overturned on his bedside table.  

“Poison,” Jiya advises the gathered throng.

The prince lowers his head in utter sadness, as Jessica continues to wail, with his limp body in her arms.  Jiya looks at Wyatt and Aevin, and silently signals to help Jessica let go.  As they do so, she fights them the entire time.  Jiya and Denise cover the body with a bedsheet. 

“Anthony is a believer in the old ways.  We need to bury him at sundown,” Jiya advises.

Everyone nods in agreement.  Wyatt and Aevin help Jessica out of the room and down the hall to her chamber.  The others remain to take the body down to the crypts for burial preparations. 

Before they leave the room, the prince turns to Sir Connor.  “Find out who did this and bring them to me!” 

Sir Connor bows in response. 

That evening, they bury Lord Anthony Bruhl in the crypts of Shadowspear.  Jessica is inconsolable, as Aevin and Wyatt do their best to be strong for her.  The prince is especially affected, as Lord Bruhl was a longtime friend and ally.  The ceremony is short and somber.  The prince’s party plans to leave in the morning to set sail for Hardstone.  As they board the vessel, a servant grabs Sir Connor’s arm, and whispers into his ear, “Lord Preston will be in touch and thanks you for your service.”

 


	11. The Tide That Binds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy finds herself in harm’s way again. Flynn and Lucy share a tender moment. A messenger arrives from Shadowspear. Connor’s betrayal deepens. Jiya has another vision.

**_Hardstone, Isle of Burgundy_ **

With everyone else gone, Rufus has to administer the day to day affairs of the castle, as well as attending to the intelligence that flows from the siege.  This leaves insufficient time for him to tend to his little brother’s needs.  Thankfully, Lucy steps into the mentor role quite nicely.  She helps Kevin with his studies, plays hiding games in the castle, and explore the beach together. 

Lucy relishes her days of peace on the island, and grows close to most of the kitchen staff and handmaidens.  It certainly isn’t home, but she’s determined to make the best of a bad situation.  The prince and his party are scheduled to arrive later today, so Lucy opts to take Kevin for their daily stroll down to the beach earlier than usual.  If the prince returns to the castle in a foul mood, she might be confined to her chambers.  Kevin doesn’t seem to mind anyway. 

They stroll along the beach, and collect a few seashells that washed up overnight.  The soldiers on the battlements indicate the sighting of a ship, and they begin to scurry about in preparation of the prince’s return.  Kevin sprints ahead of Lucy, and starts to scale the southern bastion. 

“Kevin!  Get down from there!” Lucy yells, as she quickens her pace to a light jog at this point. 

“I can see the sails!” Kevin exclaims, as he hangs precipitously from the wall.

“Kevin, you promised me no more climbing!” Lucy screams, as she reaches the base of the bastion.

“They’re almost at the entrance to the…”

Kevin’s footing slips, and he falls into the raging sea below.  Lucy doesn’t hesitate, cumbersome dress be damned, and jumps into the water after him.  Rufus joins the soldiers on the top of the bastion, and witnesses the whole thing.

“Kevin!”

The waves crash against Lucy’s body, as she struggles to keep her head above water.  Kevin is not a strong swimmer.  It’s something they were planning to work on, if Lucy is still living here next summer, since the water is too cold now.  Lucy can see Kevin, as he gulps in large amounts of water in a vain attempt to keep afloat. 

Rufus dashes across the bastion towards the stairs that lead to the beach.  Soldiers follow him, as the ship reaches the entrance to the harbor.  Lucy swims with all her might against the crashing waves.  She almost reaches Kevin, when he goes under.  Lucy dives down into the depths and searches for him.  She resurfaces briefly, and dives back down again.  When she hits the surface again, she has Kevin in her arms.  With tremendous effort on her part (her arm is still weak from her wound) she reaches the shallows.  Rufus and the soldiers arrive at the beach by this point.

Rufus doesn’t stop when he hits the water’s edge, but instead marches out into the shallows to help Lucy drag Kevin to shore.  They place him on his back once they reach the beach.  Kevin spews up a large amount of water, but otherwise seems unharmed.  Lucy is soaking wet, her body shivering as the cold silk of her dress clings to her.  Kevin refuses to let go of Lucy, and she holds him like a mother holds their child. 

“It’s okay.  You’re safe now,” Lucy whispers, as she caresses his forehead.

The soldiers hear a noise from the other side of the beach, and run off to investigate. 

“What the bloody hell is going on over there?” Sir Connor calls.

The soldiers explain what is transpiring, and Sir Connor rushes passed them towards Lucy, Rufus and Kevin.  The prince follows behind them, along with Jiya.

“Kevin!” Sir Connor calls, with outstretched arms as he reaches his son.

Kevin refuses to even look.  He clings to Lucy, and shakes back and forth, as she soothes him with her caresses.  When Sir Connor attempts to separate him from Lucy, Kevin screams “no” in his face, and grabs onto Lucy with an even tighter grip.  She staggers to her feet, Kevin moving with her.  Flynn quickly removes his cloak, and drapes it over Lucy and Kevin.  She mouths “thanks” to him, as she shuffles Kevin towards the steps that lead back to the castle.  Sir Connor is beside himself that his own son refuses to allow him to touch him.  Flynn puts his hand on Connor’s shoulder.

“Give him time.  Kevin will come around.”

A few hours later, after Lucy manages to get Kevin to fall asleep, with his father and brother by his side, she decides to take a walk along the stairs that lead to the beach.  She stares at the endless, black sea that stretches as far as her eyes can see, lit only by the pale light of the moon.  She misses her family, her sister most of all.  Sure, she has Jiya and Kevin, but Jiya won’t remain here for much longer, as her talents as a healer will surely be in supply.  Kevin is only a child, and as much as she enjoys their time together, he can’t possibly comprehend how she feels.  Rufus and she have also become friends, but he has so many responsibilities, and little free time to talk.  The truth is, Lucy is lonely.  _How long will she be held as a hostage on this island?_   _If House Flynn wins this war, what will become of her and her family?_   _If they lose, will she lose her life as well?_

The next thing she knows, silent tears stream down her cheeks.  The salty taste of her tears mingle with the salt from the sea breeze that lilts lightly in the evening air.  It’s during these brief respites that Lucy’s mind wanders to King Noah.  _Does he miss her?  Does he even still want to marry her?_   She feels like the world conspires against her at times.  She finally finds a man she’ll be happy with, and it’s all taken away from her in the blink of an eye.  She has always considered herself to be a kind and decent person.  _Is she being punished for the sins of her mother and father?_   She’s so lost in her own thoughts, she fails to hear the footsteps approach, until they’re almost directly behind her.  She assumes that the footsteps belong to either Rufus, or her guard dog, Sir Connor, so she continues to stare out into nothing.

“What you did out there today was very brave,” Flynn states in a voice so low it’s almost a whisper.

Lucy’s brain short-circuits for a moment.  The prince is the last person she expects to actively seek out her company.  _Why is he here?_   Lucy spins around to face him. 

“I only did what anyone else would have in that situation,” Lucy answers matter-of-factly.

“No, you didn’t.  You dove right into danger without even a split second’s hesitation, or so I hear,” he replies.  “You could’ve drowned too.”

“I highly doubt it,” Lucy answers stoically.

Flynn looks down at her with a puzzled expression.

“I’m a mermaid, remember?” she laughs, as she glances up at him.

Flynn chuckles in response, and his normal glower slowly grows into a wide smile.  For a brief moment, the two adversaries arrive at a détente. 

“How could I forget?  Can you ever forgive me, my lady?” he jokes.

Lucy can no longer maintain any semblance of decorum, and bursts into uncontrollable laughter.  Their levity lasts for a few more minutes, and then the prince walks forward and leans against the stone wall of the staircase.  Lucy turns as well, and they stand side by side under the night sky.

“I am truly grateful for what you did.  Not just because I care about Kevin, but selfishly, I need Sir Connor more than ever now that Anthony is gone,” he confides.

“I’m sorry about Lord Bruhl.  I didn’t know him, but I heard good things about him.”

“Anthony is the reason I’m here and not dead in a ditch in Gallantos somewhere,” he admits.

For the first time, the latent animosity between them dissipates completely, and Lucy finds herself sympathetic to the man before her.  Compared to the prince, she’s lived a sheltered life.  There were never any midnight flights from assassins at her door, or the inability to use one’s given name for fear you’ll be slaughtered in your sleep.  That alone would have made her miserable, let alone being one of two survivors of the decimation of an entire family.  _What would she have done if she had been in that position and only her and her mother had survived such a horrific ordeal?_  

“Did you find out who’s responsible?” Lucy questions hesitantly.

“No, but when I do, they’ll wish I hadn’t,” he growls.

An uncomfortable silence falls over them.  _There’s that dangerous man she has come to know._   Thankfully, she doesn’t need to broach another subject with him, as they hear footsteps rushing down the stairs.

“Your Grace,” Rufus calls, “a messenger just brought this from Shadowspear.  It’s for Lady Marri,” he states, as he hands Flynn a sealed scroll.

Flynn takes the scroll from Rufus’ hand, and is about to open it right there, but stops himself.

“Excuse me, my lady,” he advises, as he backs away and turns to ascend the stairs.

“My prince,” Lucy replies with a curtsy.

_It’s going to take much more than a thank you and one civil conversation for her to call him “Your Grace.”_   Rufus raises an eyebrow at her, and Lucy only shrugs in response. 

Flynn flies into the war room with a malevolent bluster, scroll still in hand. 

“Out!” he yells, as he enters the room and startles Sir Connor.

The few soldiers in the room scurry out. 

“What is it, Your Grace?” Sir Connor questions with a slight panic.

“We’ll know in a minute,” Flynn snaps.

The door opens and Rufus leads Jiya into the war room, shutting the door behind them. 

“You summoned me, Your Grace?”

Flynn hands her the sealed scroll.

“This just arrived from Shadowspear via messenger.  Not a raven, a messenger.  Tell me, Lady Marri, what is so important that Anthony decided to send a messenger instead of a raven?” Flynn asks in an accusatory tone.

“Why send anything at all?  She was in the same castle that he was,” Sir Connor comments.

“I have no idea, Your Grace.  He must’ve sent it as soon as we arrived at Shadowspear.  May I?” Jiya asks with an outstretched hand.

Flynn hesitates for a moment, then hands Jiya the scroll.  She cracks the seal, and unfurls the scroll.  About half way down the page, her eyes widen and her jaw literally drops open. 

“Well?” Flynn grumbles impatiently.

“Anthony's located the ancient city of Aurelia.  He’s also discovered information about what can help us defeat the coming darkness,” Jiya replies.

“What coming darkness?” Sir Connor questions.

“Some nonsense prophecy Anthony believes in.  Never mind.  None of this matters now,” Flynn complains.

“No, Your Grace.  It does.  You _must_ go to Aurelia.  Anthony left important information for you.  He may have died to protect this.  You at least owe him a look, don’t you think?” Jiya suggests.

“Your mother is closer.  Can’t we ask her to send men to check it out?” Flynn groans.

“Afraid of ghosts, Your Grace?”

“Of course not!  Don’t be ridiculous.  There’s no such thing,” Flynn scoffs.

“Maybe.  How else do you explain the strange occurrences or disappearances in the forest then?”

“What’s Aurelia?” Rufus asks with a raised hand.

“A fabled, ancient, mysterious ruin of a city that no one has ever found, that supposedly exists within the borders of the Phantom Forest,” Flynn explains.

“Phantom Forest?” Rufus repeats.

“Don’t worry about it.  You won’t be going!” Sir Connor chides.

“Send a raven to my mother.  She can meet you,” Jiya suggests.

“Afraid of ghosts?” Flynn taunts.

“No, Your Grace.  Aurelia is renowned for its magic.  I cannot break my oath as a healer, and go to where it might influence me.”

Jiya winks quickly at him, and he recalls their conversation after she saved Lucy.  _No one can know_. 

“Well, Sir Connor, looks like we have a detour before we join the rest of the army,” Flynn advises.

Sir Connor rolls his eyes, but keeps quiet. 

Sir Connor enters his chamber that evening, and finds a note scribbled on an old piece of parchment.  The note instructs him to go to the stables at midnight.  There, he will find additional instructions.  _There is no way he can go back on this now.  He made his choice._  

Cloaked in black, at midnight he makes his way to the stables.  The stables are empty, or so he thinks.  A young stable boy, probably no older than twelve, hands him a sealed scroll. 

“When you have a reply, my lord sir, I will be here,” the boy announces.

Sir Connor sneaks to the entrance of the stables.  After he checks the courtyard, he uses the shadows to make his escape.  When he finds a secluded alleyway, he opens the scroll. 

“Future Lord Mason, your prior endeavor was impressive.  Trust has been earned.  Slay the Master.”

Sir Connor burns the scroll in the fire the second he returns to his room.  Hastily, he crafts his reply to Lord Preston.  He will be able to deliver the prince _and_ the ancient city, in one fell swoop.  _It’s perfect._   Sir Connor gives them enough information that they can get to the general area ahead of time, without giving up the actual location to the city (if Anthony has _actually_ found the location).  The tides of this war will undoubtedly change in the next few days.

Lucy wakes the next morning stiff and achy.  The bed is comfortable and warm, and she wishes she could stay there all day.  Her chamber door flings open, and her handmaids begin their morning routine. 

“I need a hot bath,” Lucy complains, as she lazily pulls her limbs out of bed. 

“Yes, milady,” her handmaid replies before she rushes out of the room.

Within minutes, the handmaid returns with the iron tub.  Once the tub is filled and the water cooled slightly, Lucy slides her sore, slender body into the water.  She prays today will be less hectic.  Once she bathes, her handmaiden hands her a gown she has never laid eyes on before.  The dress is a sleeveless, light blue silk, with a gold brocade pattern on it.  It has a plunging neckline that slightly intimidates Lucy.  Accompanying the dress is an open metalwork, gold-colored belt that matches pieces attached to the shoulders. 

“Won’t I be cold in this?” Lucy inquires.

“No, milady.  The summer sun has reappeared, and the sea breezes are quiet.  It’s quite hot, actually,” the handmaiden replies.

_Well, at least it’s blue and not black or burgundy._  The handmaidens braid and pin her hair, and Lucy is ready for the day.  She isn’t sure what’s going on that she’s receiving another dress from the prince, but she’s finished fighting it.

After a quick breakfast with Jiya, they decide to take a stroll on the top of the battlements and soak up the sun’s rays for a while.  Jiya would gladly stay out there all day with her bronzed complexion, but pale little Lucy needs to enjoy it all before it gets too hot for her. 

“So, what were you and the prince talking about last night?” Jiya questions with a raised eyebrow.

“What?  Oh, he just thanked me for saving Kevin.”

“Is that all?  I was about to join you on the stairs, when I saw the two of you looking rather cozy together.”

“Jiya!  I’m already spoken for.”

“By whom?” Jiya laughs.

“My betrothed, the King!” Lucy responds with incredulity.

“You sure you wouldn’t rather marry _this_ king?”

“You have met him, right?”

Jiya chuckles lightly in response.

“You’re enjoying this!  Stop it!”

“Lucy, you have to admit that he’s easy on the eyes,” Jiya smirks.

Lucy stops dead in her tracks.  “I’m not blind.  Of course I think he’s good-looking,” Lucy declares a little too emphatically.

“You think who’s good-looking?” a voice calls from behind her.

Lucy’s body jumps reflexively.  “Seven hells!  Can you please stop sneaking up on me, Sir Connor?”

Sir Connor laughs, but appears to be waiting for her response to his question.  Lucy panics, and blurts out the first name that comes to mind.

“Rufus.”

“Rufus?” Sir Connor repeats.

“Yep.  Jiya and I both agree that he’s a very good-looking man,” Lucy elaborates.

Jiya’s eyes become wide with the mention of her name.

“My son, Rufus?”

“Yes, _your_ son.  I think Jiya has a thing for him,” Lucy whispers into Sir Connor’s ear and then walks away.

Jiya is flabbergasted.  Sir Connor eyes her suspiciously, but Jiya just smiles and then rushes to catch up with Lucy.  She smacks Lucy’s arm once she catches her.  Lucy laughs in response.

“Serves you right for teasing me,” Lucy jokes.

“You’re right though.  I kinda do like Rufus,” Jiya confesses as her face turns red.

“Is that supposed to be news to me?”

Suddenly, the metal clanging of swords interrupts their peaceful walk.  The sound comes from the courtyard down below, and Lucy and Jiya peek over the wall to get a closer look.  The prince stands in the middle of the courtyard, clad in only his leather gambeson (as opposed to full armor).  In fact, as Lucy inspects him more closely, she notices that the only real protection he seems to have is the metal gorget emblazoned with his house sigil around his throat.  Five men surround him in a circular formation.  The prince has a sword in each hand.  At first, he only spars with one man at a time.  Then, two at a time, etc.  At last, all five men attack at once.  The prince moves with effortless fluidity, as his swords meet every thrust.  Lucy has witnessed great swordsmen before at the many tournaments held over the years at Rittenfell, but she has never seen anyone move like that before, nor has she ever seen anyone use two swords that efficiently.  His movements are hypnotizing, and Lucy finds herself staring intently as he thwarts off five men.  Jiya grabs her hand, and pulls her down a staircase that leads to the courtyard, so they can get a better look.

They stand off to the side, but aren’t hidden by any means.  The prince pauses his training session, wipes his brow, and then proceeds to remove the gorget and gambeson.  Lucy’s eyes bug out of her head at the sight of him shirtless.  Her eyes wander to the rippling muscles across his arms and chest, as beads of perspiration glisten off of them in the sweltering heat.  _She didn’t think it was possible, but it has just gotten a whole lot hotter._  

Rufus appears from a corner of the courtyard, spears in hand.  He tosses one to the prince.  He spins and twirls the spear with impeccable precision.  The exercise starts again, and proceeds in a similar fashion.  His back muscles undulate with every twist, thrust and turn, as a warm sensation grows in her lower belly.  He’s truly a _very,_ dangerous man.  Realizing at some point that he’s accumulating an audience, Lucy swears she sees that smug asshole wink at her.  She has never been so conflicted about her feelings in a given moment.  Part of her wants to smack him for being his usual cocky self, and the other wants to kiss the living daylights out of him and rip off the remainder of his clothes. 

Their eyes meet briefly, and that same feeling she had before washes over her.  It’s only them, no one else.  Again, the moment is fleeting.  The next thing she knows, the prince hisses loudly as he’s cut by one of his men’s blades.  Thankfully, the wound is only superficial.  The man who cut him reaps his wrath a few seconds later, as the prince lets loose with his spear.  Rufus runs over with a cloth for him to wipe his bloody wound, and it’s at this point that the sparring ends.

“I don’t know, Lucy.  _That_ , is really hard to resist.  Plus, he already has a thing for you,” Jiya mentions casually.

“He does _not_ have a thing for me.  We detest each other.  The only thing he likes to do with me is argue,” Lucy replies.

“Sure.  I suppose he stares at you longingly because he wants a verbal jousting partner?”

“I-I,” Lucy stammers.

“Don’t bother denying it.  It’s as plain as day to everyone but you.”

Lucy huffs in disbelief.  _He doesn’t like her.  He threw her in a dungeon._

“You’re speaking of the man who threw me into a dungeon where I almost died?”

“Nobody’s perfect, Lucy,” Jiya answers with a shrug of her shoulders.

_Could he really like her?_ That idea would’ve been preposterous to her even a few days ago.  But, now?  If she’s honest, he has been overly kind to her since the dungeon incident.  Lucy hears her mother’s voice in the back of her head screaming she should try a more direct approach and seduce him.  The antagonistic approach continues to fail to secure her release, so she might as well change tactics.  _But, could she do that to him?_

Suddenly, Jiya grabs Lucy’s arm, as her eyes go back in her head.  Her body becomes limp, and Lucy struggles to keep her upright.

“Jiya!” Lucy screams.

Jiya’s body convulses, and Lucy sits down on the ground, unable to hold her up any longer.

“Help!” Lucy yells.

Her cries of help immediately catch the attention of Rufus and the prince, and they rush over to them quickly.

“What happened?” Rufus questions with wide eyes and panic strewn across his face.

“I think she’s having a vision, but I’m not sure,” Lucy answers with trepidation.

Jiya’s body stops shaking, and she opens her eyes a few moments later.

“Jiya, are you alright?”

“I’m fine.  I had a vision.  Normally, I know when it’s about to happen, but this just came out of nowhere,” Jiya answers, as Rufus helps her to her feet.

“What did you see?” Flynn questions.

“It’s just flashes.  Flashes that repeat over and over.”

“What did you see?” Rufus asks.

“I saw a king and queen upon the throne,” Jiya responds, as she rubs her forehead.

“Which king?” Flynn inquires.

“I’m not sure.  Their faces were a little blurry.  They both had dark hair, and crowns on their heads.  They sat in side by side thrones.  I can’t tell if it’s the past, present or future.  I need to see more.”

“Anything else?” Rufus questions.

“A figure burning at the stake in a courtyard.  The flames are too bright to make out anything else.  Next, I saw a door of stone covered by ice and snow, with strange runes carved into it.  There are no other distinguishing features.  It’s just snow as far as the eyes can see.”

“Is that all?” Rufus asks again, slightly scared she may just say yes.

“I saw a beach with waves of flames that consumed everything in its wake.  The last thing I saw were wolves howling, as they surrounded Rittenfell,” Jiya replies.

“What does it mean?” Flynn asks.

“I’m not sure, Your Grace.  My visions aren’t always clear right away,” Jiya explains.

“Let me know if you figure it out, will you?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

 


	12. The Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flynn sets out to find the ancient city of Aurelia. Connor’s betrayal brings dire consequences. Jessica receives startling news. Hardstone comes under attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For my GoT watchers, I give you my version of the Blackwater.  
> As always, comments are appreciated!

**_The Phantom Forest_ **

Flynn, Sir Connor and a company of some of their best men, set sail from Hardstone three days later.  They keep close to the shoreline of The Dunes, as they sail into Sandbank Bay.  Their objective is to sail as close to the border of The Dunes and The Glen as possible, and to avoid detection from the enemy since they patrol the eastern shore.  They arrive at nightfall, and successfully make landfall without incident.  They travel west along the border on horseback, and carefully evade any men House Preston has stationed at the border. 

When they reach the threshold of the forest, the horses neigh and stubbornly refuse to enter.  Spooked doesn’t even begin to cover it.  Resigning to leave the horses behind, they enter the forest on foot.  For hours, they snake and swerve through the magnolia, cypress, and oak trees that drip with Spanish moss.

“Why does it feel like we’re going in circles?” Sir Connor questions with exasperation.

“Because we are!” Flynn exclaims in frustration, as he kicks a nearby rock on the ground. 

“Are you sure, Your Grace?  I don’t have the faintest idea how you would be able to tell the difference.”

“That rock formation over there.  This is the third time I’ve seen it.  Let me see that map again,” he states gruffly.

The sun starts to rise in the eastern sky by this point.  Anthony’s map is as crude as can be, with notations and symbols that he’s clueless about.  A heavy mist settles in the air suddenly, which leaves the entire party with an eerie feeling.  Flynn doesn’t scare easily, a fact he prides himself on, but even he’s starting to feel uneasy about this whole thing.  Something _unnatural_ exerts its influence over this area.  The mist fills the clearing they stand in.  Flynn can’t even see Sir Connor, who stands only feet away.  Without warning, Flynn hears a thump of thunder from behind him.  He turns, brushes aside a thicket of moss, and spies a small opening between two rocks.  He squeezes through the thicket, and walks towards the opening.  As he reaches the opening between the rocks, he notices a small waterfall.  The thump of thunder results from the water as it rushes over the falls.  Through the mist, his eyes detect the tiniest flicker of light coming from behind the waterfall. 

“Do you see that tiny light?”

“It’s just the sun’s reflection on the water, Your Grace,” Sir Connor answers in clear frustration.

“No, it’s a light,” Flynn states flatly, as he begins to wade through the water towards the fall. 

The soldiers follow him, as Sir Connor remains firmly in place.  Flynn stands directly in front of the waterfall.  He hesitates slightly, before he plunges himself straight through.  He follows the flicker of light, which is emanating from a small cave behind the waterfall. A few scattered candles dimly illuminate a narrow tunnel.  Flynn draws his dagger, and proceeds down the tunnel with caution.  At the end of the tunnel is a carved, stone staircase that leads down into the depths below.

He grabs a candle from the wall, and cautiously inches his way down the stairs.  A door waits at the bottom.  He turns the knob, and pushes it open to find a stone arched ceiling and room upon room that stretches as far as his light reaches.  It’s an entire underground city.  Directly in front of him is a central marketplace area with a large fire pit.  A fire rages in the pit, and casts shadows along the walls.  He knows his fear has materialized.  He is not alone.

Sir Connor waits on the other side of the waterfall.  He thinks he hears movement from behind him, and when he turns, he is now face to face with Sir Benjamin Preston. 

“Where is he?”

“Through the waterfall,” Sir Connor answers.

Sir Benjamin nods, and motions to the four men accompanying him.  Sir Connor leads them through the waterfall, down the tunnel and the staircase.  Sir Benjamin sees a tall, hooded figure sitting at the fire pit.  The man’s back faces Sir Benjamin, so he creeps up behind him, blade in hand.  As Sir Benjamin is poising to strike, the man stands up and removes his hood.

“The Dishonorable Knight, Sir Benjamin Preston,” Lord Bruhl states with a smug smirk.

“What the hell?  You’re _dead_ ,” Sir Benjamin replies, as he shakes his head.

Lady Denise Marri and her men who have been hiding in the shadows of the rooms, surround Lord Preston’s men.  Flynn comes out from a room across the courtyard.  Sir Benjamin is still armed with his knife, and his one last ally, Sir Connor Mason.  Or, so he thinks.  Sir Connor pulls his own dagger, and gently presses it up against Sir Benjamin’s side.

“Not dead.  Just sleeping,” Anthony laughs.

“How?  You weren’t breathing?”

“Magic, Lord Preston.  Magic.”

“If you’re going to kill me, then get it over with!” Sir Benjamin yells in Flynn’s face.

“You think I’m going to make this quick?  You participated in my family’s murders.  You will die slowly, and you _will_ suffer!”

Lady Marri’s men usher Sir Benjamin and his men into a small stone room down one of the corridors. 

“We can work something out, Your Grace, can we not?  You have my daughter.  I will grant you her hand in marriage, and pledge my men to your cause.  Please.  I beg you.”

“You’re right,” Flynn states as he lingers in the doorway, “I already have her.  Why would I bargain for something I already have in my possession, something I could easily make my own at any time?”

“I have another daughter.  I can give her to you, if you like them a little younger than Lucy,” Sir Benjamin suggests.

Flynn does _not_ take lightly to this perceived slight.  The insinuation that he, a grown man, would want a young girl, even a teenaged one, makes his stomach turn and his skin crawl. 

“Shut the door,” Flynn orders in a deadly serious tone.

Sir Benjamin fumes like a raging bull for a couple of seconds, and then a devious smirk appears on his face.

“You may kill me, but you’re going to lose your castle,” he laughs maniacally.

“You can’t attack me.  You don’t have the men.  And, if you were moving that many men, I would hear about it.  Shut the door.”

The soldiers roll a large, circular stone over the entranceway, and bury them alive.  Lady Marri steps forward and places her hands in the middle of the stone.   

“Igillum Anua.  The door is sealed, Your Grace.  It can only be unsealed by me,” Denise advises, after she places the spell. 

Sir Connor stares at her with a raised eyebrow.

“What?  Where do you think my daughter gets it from?”

**_Shadowspear_ **

Lady Jessica Logan has only left her chambers for her father’s funeral.  Once the funeral concluded, she retreated to the sanctuary of her chambers again.  Grief consumes her.  She barely eats or sleeps, and her new husband cannot console her.  No one can.  Her brother took their father’s death by living completely in denial.  He assumes the mantle as Lord of Shadowspear, and will benefit from his sister’s guidance.  She knows this.  It still’s not enough to hedge her despair. 

She stares out the window at the waves, as they crash upon the shore, her mind as numb as her heart.  Suddenly, the door to her chamber bursts open, and her brother, Aevin, crashes through.

“He’s alive!”

Wyatt follows behind him.  He wears a relieved expression on his face, and watches his wife intently, as she receives the news that her father is indeed very much alive. 

“How-is-how?” Jessica stammers.

“You know father, how do you think?”

“Magic,” she mutters.

“I wish he would’ve told us, but I understand why he didn’t.”

“I don’t!  How can he do this to me?  And, on my wedding night?” Jessica yells with rage.

It’s selfish and she knows it, but she can’t help how she feels.  The yo-yo between anger and joy tugs at her brain. 

“That might be my fault,” Wyatt admits as he gulps.

“What?  Did you know about this?”

“No, I didn’t know.  But, they could’ve had this planned for a while.  I’m the one who pushed to move up the wedding date.  I love you so much Jess, I-I didn’t want your father to renege on his word,” Wyatt explains with desperation.

“He would never have done that,” Aevin replies.

“The father I know would never have done that, but the father I know also would never have faked his own death and never warned me,” Jessica shrieks.

Anger has won out.  She takes a vase from the bedside table, and throws it against the wall.  Wyatt knows he needs to diffuse this situation, but Jessica’s beside herself.  She grabs her cloak and wraps it around her.

“Where are you going?” Wyatt questions, as she strolls towards the doorway. 

“Out.  Alone,” Jessica declares.

Wyatt moves to go after her, but Aevin seizes his arm and shakes his head. 

**_Hardstone, Isle of Burgundy_ **

Rufus, Jiya, Lucy, and Kevin eat breakfast in the formal dining room, although the exchange can never be described as formal by any means.  Smiles abound, as they trade jokes back and forth, mostly between Rufus and Jiya.  Lucy feels happy, the first time since she’s been on this stupid island.  Jiya, Rufus, and Kevin feel like family.  It’s been ages since she’s felt the warmth of being surrounded by loved ones.

A servant enters the room, scroll in hand, and relays it to Rufus.  Rufus unfurls the scroll, and Lucy knows something is wrong by the look of panic on his face.

“What is it?” Lucy asks with concern.

“I think we’re about to be under attack,” Rufus responds, as his mouth hangs open in shock.

“Rufus!” Lucy scolds, as she nods her head in little Kevin’s direction.

Thankfully, the boy seems to be ignoring all the adult talk at the table, and instead is focusing on the book Lucy has assigned him to read.

“Kevin, why don’t you go read your book in your room for a little while,” Lucy suggests with a light touch to his arm.

“Okay,” he answers agreeably.

Once Kevin’s left the room, Lucy spins on Rufus.  “What’s going on?”

Rufus hands her the scroll, still lost in his own thoughts and panic. 

“What is it Lucy?” Jiya asks.

“Apparently, my family snuck enough of our army passed their scouts.  They set sail for Hardstone two days ago.  They’ll be here by nightfall,” Lucy answers somberly.

“Is this a rescue attempt?  Lucy, do you think you can-”

“No!  Even if this is a rescue attempt, they’ll kill everyone here without question.  I will not be able to stop any of it,” Lucy interjects.

“Lucy, I hate to even suggest this,” Rufus says.  “What if I try to come to an agreement with them?”

“What sort of agreement do you think they would actually agree to?” Lucy asks sarcastically.

“Your freedom.  In exchange, they get back on their boats and sail away.”

“They’ll never agree to it.  And, if they do, they lie.  My father would never have ordered his men to attack the castle if he didn’t intend to conquer it,” Lucy answers, as panic seeps into her bones.

“I’ll send a raven to the king, but I’m not sure what help they can be.  Everyone is too far away to get here in time,” Rufus complains.

“Then we need to give it them!” Lucy exclaims with a renewed sense of confidence.

“Can we hold them off long enough with the amount of men we have?” Jiya inquires.

“We’re going to have to,” Lucy responds.

“Rufus!” Jiya screams.

“We’re all going to die, aren’t we?” Rufus mutters.

“We are _not_ going to die!” Lucy yells, “Not if I have anything to say about it!”

She has no idea where this bravado comes from.  She isn’t a warrior.  She can’t fight the enemy in battle.  In fact, she’s never been near a real battle.  She has no clue.  She tries to keep calm for Rufus and Jiya’s sakes, but the fear creeps into her now as well.  Rufus is almost hyperventilating by this point, and both women look at each other, understanding how dire their circumstances are.  If they want to survive, they need to mount a defense of this castle. 

“First, we need to get Kevin off this island.  Is there any way we can do that?” Lucy questions.

“There are hidden passages in the castle.  They lead to a system of tunnels.  One of those tunnels leads to a sea cave on the northern shore of the island.  A few longboats are stashed there.  But, it won’t help us.  They’ll be coming from the north,” Rufus explains.

“What if he leaves now?” Lucy asks.

“I can’t spare a soldier to take him, Lucy,” Rufus advises.

“What if Jiya takes him?”

“Lucy!  I’m a healer.  I need to stay and tend to the wounded.  I took an oath,” Jiya declares firmly.

“Jiya, soldiers won’t care.  They can rape you regardless,” Lucy pleads.

“No one will touch me,” Jiya answers, as she lifts the side of her dress to reveal a slim dagger tucked into a garter on her left leg.

Rufus snaps back to reality the moment his eyes catch sight of Jiya’s exposed flesh.

“Send two of your most trusted valets to escort Kevin to the mainland.  Tell them to row west into Sandbank Bay and take refuge along the coastlines of The Dunes,” Lucy instructs Rufus.

Rufus nods his head, and rushes out of the dining room to take care of his brother. 

“Lucy, you don’t have to do this.  You can leave here.  Just tell the soldiers who you are,” Jiya begs.

“I don’t think they care about my safety.  If my father did, he wouldn’t have ordered an all-out attack.  I’m in as much danger as you,” Lucy explains.

Rufus returns to the dining room, and appears to be less frazzled than before.  Lucy assumes that not having to worry about his little brother might have put his head back in the game.  She needs Rufus’ head in the game.  He’s brilliant.  She’s definitely deduced that information during her tenure on the island.  She’s always thought the prince looks at Rufus as his father’s heir apparent, a future Hand of the King.  Lucy envisions it as well.  Rufus is already a good advisor, but with additional experience, he can be a great one. 

“I can try to fashion a few trebuchets from some of the excess wood around here,” Rufus offers.

_Trebuchets.  This has potential._

“That could work.  What do we have that we can use as projectiles?” Lucy asks.

“We have pitch and straw,” Jiya replies.

“It’s better than nothing.”

“Maybe Jiya and I can make something.  We have a few hours to try, and not much to lose,” Rufus proposes.

“We should let the household staff leave,” Lucy advises.

“Lucy’s right.  They can take refuge in the wilderness or the village,” Jiya confers.

“Fine.  Lucy, you can supervise the evacuation of the staff.  I’ll start on the trebuchets, and Jiya, if you can see if you can concoct anything combustible that would be great,” Rufus states with doubt.

They agree to their plan, then set out to survive the night.

**_Shadowspear_ **

The last thing Sir Wyatt Logan wants to do is leave his new bride.  A promise is a promise, and he needs to honor his commitment, and rejoin the army at the siege in The Shoals.  Between his wife’s aggrieved state initially, her rage and anger now, and the conversation he overheard between his father and former brother-by-law at his wedding, his head just isn’t in a good space.  The things his father said replay over and over again in his mind.  This is not something he can let go.  He will be of no use to anyone on the front if his head isn’t clear, which tells him he has to make one small stop on his way back. 

He doesn’t want to take Jessica from her home right now.  Later, when the war has been won, he will bring her back home with him, but right now, she’s safer with her brother at home.  The fastest way home is to sail by ship, so Sir Wyatt charters passage on a freighter heading for Gallantos.  It’s scheduled to make port in The Dunes, but he pays the captain to make an extra stop in The Knoll.  It pleases him that Jessica sees him off at the dock.  He prays this war will be over soon, so he can get back to her as soon as possible.

“I love you, Jess,” Wyatt says, as he kisses her goodbye.

He boards the ship, and watches her stand on the dock for as long as he can, before she passes out of sight.  In the company of her two guards, Jessica strolls leisurely from the dock back up the winding road to the castle.  As they turn the corner, her guards are ambushed and killed.  Jessica feels a blade at her throat, as her assailant grabs her from behind.

“Hello, Lady Logan.  We’re taking a little trip.”

**_Hardstone, Isle of Burgundy_ **

As the sun sets, an eerie silence falls upon the island.  Lucy succeeds in the evacuation of the household staff.  Rufus has successfully constructed four trebuchets, which have been loaded with straw drenched with pitch and oil.  They’re as prepared for battle as they will ever be.  Jiya manages to combine quicklime and brimstone into clay pots with fuses.  This will be a last resort. 

They spot the sails of the enemy on the horizon, long before the war drums thump in the black of night.  Jiya and Lucy wait in the throne room, as Rufus directs the troops to their assigned positions.  They wait with baited breath, as death closes in around them. 

The castle’s construction gives them the advantage in the initial stages of battle.  Their only hope is to hold them off long enough for one of their allies to get reinforcements to them.  The thumping of the drums grows closer, as the ships enter the harbor.  The ships anchor, and the men pour overboard and into the long boats.  As the first ships of men row towards the beach, Rufus gives the order to fire.  They ignite the pitch, oil and straw in the trebuchets and fling it at the boats.  Archers fire at will from the towers at the men in the long boats, and the few who make it onto the beach.  House Preston suffers heavy casualties in the early hours of the fight, but it doesn’t deter them.  Wave after wave of men crash onto the beach, as they dodge arrows and flaming projectiles.  Too many of them slip passed the outer defenses.  Rufus has no choice.  He needs to use Jiya’s devices, but he’s unsure.  He rushes to the throne room, and confers with Jiya and Lucy.

“I’m not sure I can do this,” he mutters.

Lucy gazes into his eyes.  Rufus is not a killer.  Even though it’s necessary to their very survival, he has doubts.  Jiya’s taken a sacred vow to do no harm.  _She knows this is up to her.  She’ll need to do something terrible in order to save their lives.  The exact kind of thing that her ancestor, Princess Lucy, had to do_.  That thought gives her a strength and courage she never knew she possessed. 

“I will do it!  Rufus, can you get me some type of armor that may fit me?” Lucy questions.

“Lucy, no!” Jiya shrieks.

“He can’t do it and someone has to!” Lucy shouts.

Rufus nods and disappears down the corridor.  When he comes back, he has a small, black padded gambeson in his arms.

“This is all I have.  I can get you chain mail, but I’m not sure you’ll be able to stand up with all that weight.”

The gambeson will have to do.  Jiya helps her get it over her dress.  Of course, it’s still too large for her.  If she had known she would’ve had to do this, she would’ve found some pants to put on, instead of this fancy dress.  She also finds a small, leather belt that she ties around herself, which contains her only method of protection in addition to the gambeson: a dagger.  Lucy hugs Jiya tightly, and then makes her way with Rufus to the castle walls.  Jiya follows behind, unable to allow her friends to suffer through this on their own. 

When they make their way to the battlements, Lucy is overwhelmed.  Arrows fly from every direction.  Moonlight and flame feud in the night sky.  Men scream and breathe their dying breaths before her eyes.  It’s war and it’s hell.  Lucy and Rufus make their way to the trebuchets.  He orders the soldiers to load the clay pots full of Jiya’s concoction.

“Careful!” Lucy yells, as a soldier almost drops one.

Jiya explained how combustible the combination of these two materials are.  If they aren’t careful, they will blow themselves up.  Lucy instructs the soldiers to fill the trebuchets on the ends of the battlement with the pots.  If this works, Lucy will fire the pots to the left and right sides of the beach.  The enemy should gather in the middle to escape the flames.  She orders the archers to fire at will once they fire the pots, and to concentrate their aim in the middle of the beach.  There will be nowhere to escape the barrage of fire and arrows. 

Once they load the pots onto the trebuchets, Lucy stands behind them both with a torch in hand, her arm straight in the air.  They need to fire the trebuchets at the same exact time, or this won’t work.  Soldiers stoop down low next to the trebuchets, torches in hand, ready for her signal to ignite the fuses and fire.  Rufus has assigned two members of the king’s guard to protect Lucy.  They safeguard her the entire time she’s out there with their shields, but in order for the soldiers to see the signal, Lucy will need to remain out in the open and unguarded.  She takes a deep breath and signals for the fuses to be lit.  A moment later, she drops the torch and the trebuchets fire. 

The pots fly down onto the beaches below, and the fuses ignite the powder a few feet from the ground.  A blinding, yellow flash of light ensues on the right and left sides of the beach.  As Lucy predicted, the soldiers, unable to see or breathe from the fumes, collapse into the middle of their formation.  The archers fire at will, and mow down man after man in the madness.  They move one of the trebuchets to the middle of the battlements.  Lucy’s plan is working, but there are still too many soldiers in the middle of the beach.  She has the soldiers place the last of their clay pots on the middle trebuchet.  Lucy herself lights the fuse, and the last trebuchet fires its contents into the saffron-stained sky.  The light burns even brighter than the last two, as all three blazes combine.  The screams of the wounded shriek out into the night, and then are suddenly silent.  The entire beach bathes in a wave of fire, and bodies of the dead litter its sands.  Some of the enemy soldiers further back in their formations attempt to quell the flames, but are unsuccessful. 

“This was part of my vision,” a voice states from behind Lucy.

She turns to see Jiya, her creation horrifying her, as she stands there in shock. 

“What have I done?” Jiya states more than asks.

The enemy soldiers have no choice, and retreat back to their boats.  They secure victory for now, but Lucy knows that as soon as the flames extinguish, they’ll attack again.  She only prays they bought enough time for reinforcements to arrive.

 


	13. Sins of the Father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicholas and Emma’s scheme goes according to plan. Wyatt confronts his father over his part in his sister and niece’s deaths. Flynn and company head for Castle Christopher. Anthony enacts a plan to save Jessica.

**_Rittenfell_ **

Nicholas awaits word from both Benjamin and Emma that their plan has been successful.  A raven arrives shortly thereafter from Emma, advising they have the newly minted Lady Logan in their custody.  Emma hopes she may have some insight or specific knowledge of her father’s research into magic.  Emma and Nicholas were going to grab Anthony, but he died before they could implement their plan.  So, Jessica was the next logical step.  Emma suggests that they can use her to their advantage, even _if_ she doesn’t know anything about Anthony’s research.  He still hasn’t been able to figure out what Emma’s angle is, but knowing her, it’s brilliant. 

They have always had a mutual admiration for each other and make a great team.  Now, she has reluctantly agreed to marry him; _finally_.  He understands her hesitation, though.  Emma is the Lady of Crimson Rock, the head of her house.  She has power, and she will not cede it easily.  Slowly but surely, he’s earned her trust.  Soon, she will be his wife, and if their plans go accordingly, they each will have their own houses to rule and power to wield. 

Nicholas sits at his dining room table, as he ponders the future.  Suddenly, a guard appears.  The guard gasps for breath, as he approaches the table. 

“What is it?”

“Lord Preston.  He’s dead.  They’re all dead.”

“How is it you’re still among the living?”

“Lord Preston told me to stay back from the company in case there was any trouble.  I tried to get them out, but the stone is too large and too heavy for one man.”

“Then how do you know for sure that they’re dead then?  Send a company of men, and try to get them out.  If they’re already dead, bring their bodies back for burial.”

The guard nods and turns to leave, then wavers. 

“Is there something else?”

“Lord Bruhl is alive.  I saw him with my own eyes.”

“Impossible.”

“I swear my Lord, he is very much alive.  He headed west while the rest of them headed south.”

“Fetch me ink and paper and have a raven ready to fly,” Nicholas instructs.

Emma needs to know about Anthony’s sudden resurrection and Benjamin’s possible death.  Perhaps their luck is improving.

**_Summit Hall_ **

Sir Wyatt Logan and his company of men ride their horses up the small hill, turn a corner and see their home, Summit Hall, across the green pastures.  The seat of House Logan, it’s located south of the River Keynes in the middle of The Knoll.  Neither The Knoll, nor House Logan, existed before the reign of Stiv I.  During the coup that installed Stiv as king, a young blacksmith named Logan, who served House Preston, saved the life of his liege lord in battle.  The Lord was grateful, and realized the young man’s natural skill in battle and sheer bravery.  Having lost the previous battle to the Ritten King’s forces, Lord Preston decreed that Logan would be the commander of his forces.  They won every battle they fought after that.  Stiv I, knighted Logan after his coronation, and House Logan was born.

When the new king divided the lands into territories that the great houses would help rule, he granted House Logan a portion of the former House Ritten territories, as well as a small portion of the areas of The Dunes and The Crags. This newly defined area was called The Knoll, mostly because of the rounded shape of the land that had been granted, as well as its location. Small hills and green pastures stretch across the landscape, with scant areas of rocky outcroppings.  The majority of the realm’s food is grown here due to its fertile soil and temperate climate, except for the furthest southern regions.  Those areas are slightly harsher environments, with arid land in the southeastern corner bordering The Dunes, and the storm battered coastal edges along the southern and western borders. 

House Logan was also granted the castle of Summit Hall, a former summer palace of House Ritten.  More of a palace than a secure stronghold, Summit Hall is a stately mansion, constructed mostly of marble, and is ornately decorated with gold and mosaics, indoor and outdoor fountains, and manicured gardens.  Even after their inception, House Logan never became an extremely large house.  It has gained wealth over the years, but they aren’t a particularly rich house either. 

The brown and white banners blow in the breeze, as they approach the castle gates.  Their house sigil is a white sword and shield on a brown field.  The sword and shield symbolize how their house came into being, and the brown signifies the rich soil.  Wyatt tries his best to display a calm demeanor, but he feels his wrath well up inside him.  He cannot get the conversation he overheard between his father and Flynn.  It’s haunting his thoughts whether awake or asleep, and he needs to confront his old man.  He needs to hear it from the horse’s ass’ mouth.

He’s always hated Flynn, but his enmity for his father knows no bounds.  He distinctly remembers the night his father informed them Lorena would be married to the prince.  He was so excited for her, until he found out she’d be marrying the “other” prince.  He had just assumed his father had meant Prince Gabriel, the shining star of the crown.  Gabriel was the man every woman loved and every man wanted to be.  He was tall, dark and handsome, a competent enough swordsman, and the ultimate politician.  He had charisma for miles, was intelligent and witty and was next in line to be king.  He was basically a hero that was worshipped.  Unfortunately, the king had already made a match for Gabriel just days earlier, though the word hadn’t spread throughout the realm just yet.

Garcia, on the other hand, was definitely the better swordsman, was also tall, dark and handsome, but he was cocky and brash.  He had a reputation for brutality in war, and Wyatt truly feared for his sister.  Lorena was kind and sweet, she deserved a husband that would treat her the same way.  As he looks back now, he sees how wrong he was.  He still hates Flynn, but he was nothing but loving and attentive to his sister.     

He dismounts his horse, and stares at the lone stone tower surrounded by the marble façade.  It’s been quite a long time since he’s been in his own home, although this hasn’t felt like home in a long, long time.  He marches up the cobblestone walkway that leads to the main gate, as he feels the heat of his hate.  Rage.  Nothing is left, but rage.  The guards open the main gate, and he crosses the courtyard and heads straight for the dining room.  Wyatt pushes right passed his father’s guards and valet, and storms into the room.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, _boy_?” Lord Logan demands.

His guards place their hands on the hilts of their swords.  Wyatt turns his head, and stares directly at them.

“You can either deal with him, or deal with me.”

The guards glance at each other, and then leave the room.  They’re more afraid of Wyatt than they are of his father.  It’s the reason he was able to commit the forces of House Logan to this war in the first place.

“I know what you did, you despicable piece of shit!” Wyatt roars.

“Watch your tone with me boy!” Lord Logan instructs, as he takes another swig from his goblet. 

“You knew and you did nothing to warn them!  You knew!”

Wyatt’s face is blood red, his nostrils are flaring, and his chest heaves up and down with ragged breath.  He grabs his father by the collar, pulling him off of his chair in the process.

“What sort of garbage is that maniac spewing to you?”

“I overheard your conversation at Shadowspear on the night of my wedding.  Your own kin?”

Whatever lies spew forth from his father’s mouth, Wyatt hears none of it.  He always adored his older sister.  Lorena spent time with him, took care of him, and loved him once his mother passed.  He knew that was always partly why he resented Garcia.  He also felt Flynn never deserved Lorena.  It’s because of Flynn that the light in his world was snuffed out and darkness was ushered in; well, until Iris was born. 

His memories of when he first held that little baby are etched into his soul.  It’s the first time he ever desired a family of his own.  The part that sickened him to his core is when his father referred to his sister as if she were only a type of commodity to be bought and sold.  He had shared many of his father’s views on subjects, but this clearly was not one of those times.  Lorena was a human being, not a goat.   And, Iris, she was an innocent child.  When you hurt innocent children, you have completely descended into monster territory. 

“She was supposed to bring greatest to this house!  But, she wasn’t pretty enough to attract the heir to the throne.  Oh no, she could only attract the second son, the spare heir.”

“Prince Gabriel was already betrothed to Lady Sara, and House Marri and House Flynn have been allies for years.  You truly expected the king to break that engagement for you?” Wyatt questions with exasperation.

His blood boils with the intensity of a raging inferno in the seventh circle of hell.  He can’t see straight, his heart is pounding in his chest, and he finds he’s in an almost dreamlike state.  Possessing the fury of a fiery beast, he closes his eyes, as his hands squeeze the life from his father’s body.  He tightens his hold and focuses on the smiling faces of Lorena and Iris.  He loses all control over his senses and thoughts.  His father’s arms flail as he desperately attempts to stave off his son’s assault.  Lord Logan is still half-sitting in his chair, and he kicks wildly, as Wyatt hovers above him.  He wants to ask how much gold his father was paid, yet to know how much, or how little Lorena and Iris’ lives were worth will kill him.  Plus, the words fail to form on his tongue.  He squeezes harder, until he hears that telltale sound.  Crunch.  He slowly opens his eyes, and the horror of what he has done sinks in.  _What the hell has he done?_   _Fuck!_   _No!_   He pulls his father’s body close to him, as he breaks down in tears.  He sobs uncontrollably, as he rocks back and forth on his legs with his father in his arms.  As much as he hated the man for most of his life, he was still his father.  If he had been honest with himself sooner, he might’ve recognized that he acted out because he sought his father’s approval above all else. 

After a few minutes, he composes himself out of necessity.  If he can make this appear to be an accident, he may be able to get away with it.  Being a kin-slayer was the worst of the worst as far as the people of Ritten thought.  He’d be at best jailed and at worst executed.  He grips his father’s body up and lugs his literal dead weight to the balcony.  His father is a known drunk.  If he falls from the balcony, it will be believable.  After he nervously looks around, Wyatt pushes his father’s body over the edge, and watches as it slams into the stone slab street below.  Fortunately, the servants buy it.  After a quick and mostly undignified burial, Wyatt begins his preparations to rejoin the siege.  He didn’t intend on killing him, and part of his brain is already actively blocking it out.  His father’s death is one more scar his soul will have to bear. 

**_Aurelia_ **

Flynn and Denise sit idly at the table, as Anthony rummages through endless ancient scrolls.  Sir Connor enters the room as fast as a hurricane, panic spread across his face.  Anthony continues to pour through the scrolls, completely obvious to anything else going on.  Flynn and Denise know right away that something is very, _very_ wrong. 

“What is it?” Flynn asks.

“Hardstone is under attack, Your Grace.”

The nausea Flynn feels as he hears those words is indescribable.  Denise appears to be in shock.  He has experienced that helpless and terrifying feeling before with his own wife and daughter. 

It’s understandable that Denise and Connor are upset.  They have skin in the game, so to speak.  Outsiders probably would imagine he’s upset because it’s his ancestral home under attack.  That isn’t it either.  He concentrates on one thing, and one thing alone. Lucy. Best case scenario, Lucy will be rescued by her family’s men unharmed.  Worst case scenario…

“Send a raven to Karl.  Tell him to send men immediately!” Flynn barks at Connor.

“They sent one to him.  He replied that he doesn’t have the men to spare.”

“How is that possible?”

“Logan hadn’t show up yet with his men at the time they sent the raven.”

Flynn slaps the scrolls across the table in frustration.  Anthony finally gazes up, as the scrolls he was perusing go flying onto the floor.  Flynn turns to Denise, the panic now seeping into him as well.

“How many men do you have?”

Denise frowns.  “To send?  Not enough.  Most of my men are already in The Shoals.”

It will take any of his reinforcements at least two days to arrive on the island.  _Two days.  Two days too many_.  Rufus is a capable young man, but he isn’t a warrior.  He only left a skeleton crew to guard Hardstone, never imagining his enemy would dare attack it.  _First mistake.  Will they have advanced warning?  Can they get off the island safely?  If they can’t get out, can they hold the castle until he can arrive?_   Evil thoughts of what could happen to Lucy and Jiya swirl in his head.  He cares for Lucy, even he can’t deny that any longer, but he continues to put her in harm’s way, whether directly or indirectly, and he hates himself for it. 

“We need to leave.  Now!”

Denise and Sir Connor nod silently in response.  Anthony shuffles his feet, as he walks towards Flynn.  “I’m going back to Shadowspear to work on these spells.  Most of my men are already with Karl.  Even if I send the remainder of my men, they’re further away than we are.”

Flynn put his hand on Anthony’s shoulder and smiles.  They exchange no words, yet they don’t need any to convey their thoughts and feelings.  Anthony stays behind to gather more scrolls, and Flynn, Denise and Sir Connor ride south for Castle Christopher. 

Once they reach the edge of the forest, the terrain changes dramatically.  The forest floor gives way to the desert dust, as they ride their horses hard onto the Carlin Mesa.  The Dunes are aptly named, as sand covers the majority of the land, with small sections of coastal rocks around the western, southern and eastern borders.  The southernmost part is home to an active volcano, and the northernmost part is the forest they have just left.  If they’re lucky, they might make it to the castle by nightfall.  The mesa’s flat surface eases the horses’ passage for a good stretch before the afternoon sun shines down with merciless might.  It’s always warmer in the southern half of the continent, but The Dunes are known for their sweltering heat.  “Sweltering” doesn’t quite do it justice.  And, for some reason, he seems to be the only one that it is affecting, well, him and the horses.  They stop at a small brook hidden in a canyon to water said horses and quench their thirst.  Denise pulls Sir Connor aside when Flynn is distracted.

“You and I have children we’re trying to save so our urgency is understandable.  What has him in such a hurry though?” Denise asks, as she cocks her head towards Flynn.

“Not what, who.”

“What do you mean?”

“As completely bat shit crazy as it sounds, he has a thing for Lady Lucy.  Not that he’ll admit it,” Sir Connor responds, as he rolls his eyes.

“If he won’t admit it, how do you know?”

Sir Connor chuckles.  “Anyone with eyes can see it.  It’s this weird love/hate thing.  I never know if he’s going to strangle her or kiss her.”

Within a few minutes, they’re back on their horses heading south.  A few hours later, the sun sets, and the party continues on through the dusky darkness.  A short time later, Denise brings the party to a halt, and then veers off sharply to the left, down a path Flynn honestly would’ve missed.  They follow suit and steer their horses down the path after her. 

About a mile down the road, his straining eyes spy lights off in the distance.  Before he knows it, they are right up alongside of Castle Christopher, the ancestral seat of House Marri.  The castle appears to rise directly out of the side of the mesa, with eight large, cubed towers, high curtain walls, and an Albarrana tower, with a small dome on the western side.  Flynn recognizes the eastern influence on the architecture immediately, having spent so much time in Gallantos over the last decade. 

House Marri descends from peoples of the far, far east of the world.  At some point, they moved westward to Gallantos.  Their family became established and amassed considerable power through political savvy, loyalty and philanthropic enterprises.  During the great migration of families from Gallantos to Ritten, the majority of House Marri made the move across the Sea of Cahill and settled in the far south of the land.  His mother had always admired the eastern style of architecture, and for a brief moment his mind drifts to fonder times.  A rare breeze brushes his cheeks suddenly, which snaps him back to reality. 

As they enter the main gate, he sees the golden banners emblazoned with bright, red phoenixes that hang proudly from the castle walls and towers.  The phoenix symbolizes the rebirth of their house after House Marri left Gallantos.  The gold personifies their wealth and the sunny climate of The Dunes.  Their house words are “Kin, Service, Virtue.”  Lady Marri has reminded him that her loyalties lie in that order on more than one occasion.

House Marri has always intrigued him.  Unlike other houses, their line of succession passes through the female heirs.  Jiya is Denise’s eldest daughter, and thus will someday become Lady of Castle Christopher, unless she forfeits her title to remain a healer.  No one here seems to question this practice, even though every other house follows the laws of primogeniture.  He assumes this is the reason so many of their women are fierce forces of nature, be they warriors or healers. 

Denise gathers as many warriors (both male and female) as she can, and they trade out their horses and ride like the wind for the coast.  They will board the ships there, and sail as fast as possible to Hardstone.  They all silently pray their respective loved ones will still be standing when they do.

**_Shadowspear_ **

When Anthony arrives at Shadowspear, he knows his presence will shock people.  Once the people become accustomed to his glorious return from the dead, he makes his way to the gate of the castle.  He’s met by his son, Aevin, who hugs him tightly.  As Anthony pulls away from his son’s embrace, he notices the expression of worry on Aevin’s face.  He waits until they’re alone before he asks what’s wrong.  His son pauses, swallows hard, and then informs him of Jessica’s disappearance.

“There’s no trace of her anywhere father.”

“She didn’t disappear.  She was taken.”

“Who would kidnap her?”

“My enemies.”

“Our enemies, you mean.”

Anthony ponders the possible suspects in his head.  This isn’t something he could see Benjamin Preston doing.  That leaves only two other suspects: Nicholas Preston or Emma Whitmore.  Nicholas fancies himself as some sort of strategic genius, yet he’s anything but.  Emma is the wily one.  He just can’t figure out her angle and why she would take Jessica.  Jessica doesn’t know anything Emma would find useful.  As far as Emma knows, he’s dead already.  His only conclusion is that she hopes to get Wyatt to switch sides in the war in exchange for his wife.  He wants to advise the prince, but he hesitates because the prince is currently preoccupied in trying to repel an attack at Hardstone.  He also needs to find Wyatt, so they can pool their respective resources and coordinate a rescue effort.  He instructs his men to find out where Sir Wyatt Logan currently is. 

Two days later, Anthony receives a raven from Lady Whitmore.  She has Jessica.  She offers to return her unharmed if Anthony provides her with the spell to open the door buried in the ice deep in the Timeless Mountains.  Anthony knows his daughter’s life hangs in the balance.  Emma is not a woman to be trifled with.  He had planned on this happening, he just had planned on it happening with the prince.  He knows the prince isn’t ready yet to take up the hero of the world mantle.  He also knows he has no choice but to agree to Emma’s terms.  If she’s done her homework properly, she will know that there are two different spells required.  The first spell will open the door and unleash a scourge upon the world.  The second will allow the caster of the spell to control the beast.  He only agrees to give her one.  She will not be able to control whatever beast emerges from that icy crypt.  He also knows that he can never allow Emma to obtain the second spell.  If she can control the beast, this entire world will be doomed. 

His ability to perform magic has always been limited.  He’s cast smaller spells in the past, but he was not born with the ability to use magic’s full potential.  His options are limited, yet he gambles everything on the one scenario where both he and the prince will win.  He just prays he has enough knowledge and power to pull off one last spell to enact his plan. 

At midnight, Anthony stealthily sneaks out of the castle and makes his way down to the mysterious black rocks that litter the shores of Shadowspear.  He lights four torches around the rocks, one in each direction.  He may not possess the power of magic, but the black rocks surely do.  He places the parchment with the spell on the rocks. 

“Erbis ine deot.  Agé acti sunt.  Cultatum anent.  Adüsque egere lecti nus,” Anthony chants.

The wind blows violently and the torches go out.  In the common tongue, the spell translates loosely as:

**_Words without meaning,_ **

**_Let this page become,_ **

**_Hidden it shall remain,_ **

**_Until read by the chosen one._ **

Anthony takes the parchment and rolls it up in another scroll he has written.  He seals the scroll with melted wax, impresses his seal, and places it into the raven’s claws himself.  Anthony knows he’s risking a great deal by sending the scroll to Hardstone.  The enemy can be in possession of the castle by this point, but he has to take the risk. 

When Anthony returns to the castle, his men inform him they have located Sir Wyatt Logan.  He sends a raven to Summit Hall and informs Wyatt of Jessica’s kidnapping.  He also advises against Wyatt doing anything stupid.  Anthony can handle this on his own, and he has a plan.  If Wyatt wants to back him up, he needs to gather some men and head towards Rittenfell, since he assumes Jessica’s being held there.  He then responds to Emma and informs her he accepts her offer.  _Here goes nothing._

 


	14. The Plight of Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy and Jiya attempt to flee Hardstone. Anthony faces off with Emma. Wyatt learns of Jessica’s kidnapping. Flynn and Denise finally arrive and join the fray.

_**Hardstone** **,** _ **_Isle of Burgundy_ **

Lucy is grateful that they manage to live through the night.  As the first rays of dawn rise over the horizon, she peers over the rampart walls and witnesses the devastation they wrought the night before.  The dead outnumber the living easily, yet they still remain outnumbered against House Preston.  Eventually, the castle will fall.  She has never wished to see the prince more in her life.  She never thought she’d ever think that.  Any help that they can get will be welcome.  She prays help will arrive soon, because she’s certain they will not survive another night.  They have no more clay pots or fuses left, and they’re running low on arrows.  The situation has become dire.  _Will this be her end?_

The soldiers of House Preston reinforce their fortifications during the daylight hours, careful to remain out of range of the castle archers.  When twilight arrives, the soldiers skulk into the shadows to remove their dead from the beach.  Lucy and Rufus assume that’s the soldiers’ goal, but in actuality, they pile the bodies of the dead at the foot of the palisade and curtain wall. 

As darkness falls, they climb the corpses like a ladder, and make their way over the wall.  Once they pass the curtain wall, they charge the ramparts.  Archers rain down their ever dwindling supply of arrows.  Rufus commands the remainder of the troops to defend the southern bastion.  If they get through there, the castle will be overrun in a matter of minutes.  The odds are undoubtedly against them.  They have no hope of escape either.  House Preston’s ships blockade the harbor.  Most of their men prefer death over capture, and Rufus has no doubt they will fight until the last man.  He, on the other hand, prefers living very much to death.  He knows in his heart of hearts he has to get Jiya and Lucy out.  If his last deed on this earth is to save Lucy and the woman he has fallen head over heels in love with, he will die knowing his death had a purpose.  Perhaps then, his father can finally be proud of him. 

Rufus knows it will take a great deal to convince either woman to leave, but it has to be done.  There is no guarantee they’ll make it out unscathed.  If they stay put, he shutters to think of what will happen to them.  He has to get through to Lucy.  Jiya is too headstrong.  If there are injured men, she will insist on staying and treating them.  He pulls Lucy aside, as he watches House Preston’s men advance upon the southern bastion. 

“Lucy, we have to get you and Jiya out of here.  Not even the gods can help us anymore.  The castle is going to fall, sooner rather than later.”

“And, leave you here to die?  Never!”

“I’ll be right behind you, I promise.  You’ll have a better chance of survival if it’s just the two of you.  Take the hidden passages to the tunnels that lead to the cave.  There are rowboats docked there.  Stay close to the shore and move as quietly as possible.”

“Rufus, I-”

“Not another word.  Get out of here!”

Lucy hugs Rufus tightly. 

“Good luck.  I better see you later!”

“You will!”

_I hope._

**_Village of Preston, The Glen_ **

Preston is a small village in the western part of The Glen.  A farming community that also borders the River Keynes, it consists of small houses, shops and a ferry.  Even though it’s small, it’s always bustling with activity in the day.  Goods are shipped up river from here, as well as ferried from the eastern and western banks.  Anthony surveys the area from afar.  He knows this most certainly is a trap, but Emma has his daughter.  He has to be smart about every action and reaction. 

It’s definitely an inauspicious place for a meet, so he arrives ahead of schedule to inspect the activity in the village.  Not noticing anything untoward, he stealthily makes his way to the barn Emma advised to meet in.  He peers through a crack on the side of the barn, and sees Jessica.  She stands in the middle of the barn, Emma directly behind her with a knife to her throat.  Jessica’s hands are bound with rope in front of her.  Anthony is prepared to give his life for his daughter’s.  He rounds the corner of the barn, and Jessica catches sight of him. 

“Father!”

“Jessica!  Did they hurt you?”

“Not _yet_ ,” Emma interrupts.

“Please don’t hurt her.  She knows nothing about any of this.  I brought the spell, like you asked.”

“How can I be sure you’re not trying to pull a fast one on me?”

“It’s the real spell.  I don’t know how I can prove it.  You can tell from the parchment just how old it is, but other than that…”

Jessica looks terrified, as Emma presses the knife closer to her throat.  Anthony starts to panic.  He needs to save his daughter, and he has no way of doing so at the moment. 

“Toss it over.”

Anthony rolls the scroll across the floor towards Jessica’s feet. 

“Pick it up!” Emma instructs, as she pushes down on Jessica’s shoulder.

Emma moves the knife outward, but keeps it close to Jessica’s throat, as she bends down and picks up the scroll.  Anthony makes eye contact with Jessica as she bends down, and winks at her.  Emma opens the scroll and quickly scans the contents, then looks back up and over at Anthony.

“What else aren’t you telling me?”

“N-n-nothing.”

Anthony drops to his knees.

“I’m begging you.  Please.  Give me back my daughter.”

Emma lowers the knife and shoves Jessica in Anthony’s direction.  The surge of happiness that runs through his body is indescribable.  Jessica stops a few feet from him and looks down.  As she does, her worried look changes into an evil smirk. 

“He’s lying,” Jessica says, as she turns back towards Emma.

“Jess?”

“I’m sorry father.  You chose the wrong side in this war.”

Anthony’s brain is malfunctioning, unable to process the outright betrayal of his own daughter.  _What is going on?  How did Emma do this?_   Emma struts forward, and crouches down to look Anthony in the eyes. 

“What aren’t you telling me?” she repeats.

“You will unleash a scourge upon this land that you will not be able to contain.  It will be your downfall.  It has been foreseen.”

Emma turns to Jessica for confirmation.

“He-He’s not lying.”

“And, you always know when your father lies?”  Emma snaps.

“I do.  He’s a terrible liar.  Always has been.”

“Then he’s useless.”

Anthony’s brain finally starts to return to its former heightened state.  He is not getting out of this.  He has never been a fighter, and he lost his will to fight after his daughter’s betrayal.  His heart is broken into a thousand pieces.  _This cannot be_. 

“Darling?”

He hears Emma speak to someone behind him.  He notes the footsteps, as they close in like a noose around his neck.  He has severely miscalculated this entire situation.  Right now, he curses himself for _not_ involving Wyatt in this rescue attempt.  The next thing he knows, a large hand grips his shoulder, and yanks him to his feet.  The silver glint of a blade flashes before his eyes. 

“Be a man and at least have the guts to look me in the face.”

“Lord-Anthony-Bruhl.  You truly are an idiot.  Did you think you would survive this?” Lord Nicholas Preston questions.

“What?  But you said-” Jessica pleads, as she looks at Emma.

“Do you want to be a queen or not Lady Logan?” Emma responds, as she rolls her eyes.

“Seize him!” Nicholas orders.

Anthony feels a man grab him by each arm, as they usher him out of the barn and towards the village square.  Emma takes Nicholas’ arm, and they gaze longingly into each other’s eyes, as they follow behind.  Anthony struggles the best he can with the guards, and notices Emma and Nicholas’ behavior as he turns around.  Jessica shuffles behind the happy couple, with her head bowed.  Anthony tries to get her to look at him, desperate to still save his daughter after her (what he hopes) misguided betrayal.  He wants to scream at her to run; run for her life.  Instead, he’s jerked back around and thrown down to the ground.  He lands on his hands and knees, and when he lifts his head, he spies the wooden stump they’ve placed in the town square.  A crowd of villagers begins to gather around the commotion.  His head is slammed down upon the wooden stump.  He looks around the gathered crowd, but only strangers’ eyes stare back at him.  A soldier holds his head in place on the stump, as Nicholas and Emma step forward from the crowd.  Jessica shrieks in horror, and his last glimpse of her is when Nicholas’ men carry her off.  Nicholas raises his hands above his head and the crowd quiets.

“In the name of Noah of House Neville, First of His Name, King of Ritten, I, Nicholas of House Preston, Lord of Rittenfell and Guardian of The Glen, hereby charge you with treason and sentence you to die!” he shouts as loudly as he can.

Anthony mumbles a prayer to himself.  He feels a sharp pain and then…

**_Summit Hall_ **

Wyatt stares at the scroll in his hands in disbelief.  His wife.  Not his wife.  He’s lusted after her for so many years, and once he’s finally married the woman of his dreams, she disappears.  This devastates him beyond words, but he’s a man of action.  He will not sit idly by while his wife is in danger.  He doesn’t need an army, just twenty good men.  Come hell or high water, he will save Jessica.  His life is meaningless without her.  He has envisioned their future more times than he can count.  He’s not about to let anyone jeopardize it.  He musters the best of his men, arms them to the teeth, and sets out in a northeasterly direction towards Rittenfell.  He assumes Emma and Nicholas will be holding Jessica there.  If she’s being held at Crimson Rock, his rescue mission will become even more perilous.  He also knows he should consult, or at the very least, advise the prince as to his situation.  Honestly, he knows the prince will tell him to send his men back to the siege, as they have closed in on the capital and have the enemy on the run.  That’s the prudent thing to do.  He can negotiate for Jessica’s release as part of their surrender.  Yet, he’s terrified they’ll hurt Jessica, and he is _not_ willing to take that chance.  He will rescue his wife and deal with the consequences as they come.  He just hopes he has enough time to get to her before something awful happens. 

**_Hardstone_ ** **, _Isle of Burgundy_**

Lucy practically has to drag Jiya to the throne room.  They need to attempt their escape, and they need to do it quickly.  Behind the throne, there’s a sconce on the wall.  Rufus pulls it to the left, and the wall panel slides open.  Jiya stands before Rufus and stares directly in his eyes.  Suddenly, she grabs his face with both hands, and plants a kiss on him.  She pulls back and stands there silently, as Lucy hugs Rufus once more.  She grabs a torch, and they enter the hidden passage.  Rufus shuts the wall panel behind them, which leaves the torch as the only source of available light.  Carefully and quietly, they make their way down a winding staircase until they reach an old iron door.  They both pull with all their might and manage to creak the door open enough for them to slide through.  It takes just as much effort to shut it. 

The door leads to the aforementioned tunnel, and they follow it until they turn a corner and find another door.  This door is even more difficult than the first to get open.  After a few tries, they succeed in prying it open as well.  The door opens up into one of the myriad of sea caves that dot the island.  Lucy and Jiya spy the rowboats tied up along the water’s edge.  They’re about to climb in, when they hear the commotion from the harbor.  House Preston blockades the harbor, and their men have overrun the island by this point.  If they row out into the harbor, they will be spotted in an instant.

“What do we do now?” Jiya asks, as she looks around nervously.

Lucy has no idea how she remains so calm through most of this, and she needs that genius brain of hers to conjure up a way out for them. 

“I have an idea.  It’s risky, but…”

Flynn sees the flames of fire long before the castle should have come into view.  Sickened to his stomach, he prays to the gods that Lucy, Jiya, Rufus and Kevin are safe.  He hopes they managed to make it off of the island somehow.  As their ships approach the harbor, they behold a sight they hadn’t been expecting. 

House Preston’s ships are under attack.  Their attackers have cut off the escape routes in every direction.  He’s unable to see the banners to identify their newfound ally.  They direct their ships to land on the eastern side of the island.  Even with the element of surprise, they’re still vastly outnumbered.  He doesn’t care.  Whatever obstacle blocks his path, it will not stop him. 

He hacks and slashes a bloody trail from the beach and over the curtain wall.  Desperation and rage course through his veins.  He knows that Denise and her men are right behind him, but he forges ahead as if he is a one man army.  He barely registers the several wounds he himself sustains.  He charges ahead with tunnel vision, as he cleaves his way to the castle gates.  Flynn might not feel his prior wounds, but he definitely feels the arrow as it pierces his flesh.  He stumbles backwards from the force of the blow.  Thankfully, the arrow’s hit him in the left shoulder.  He slows slightly, allowing Denise’s men to get in front of him.  He takes his sword and slashes the arrow in half.  It relieves some of the pain, but the rest of it is still lodged in his body.  It will have to wait. 

He knows that once they make their way into the castle, the enemy’s numbers won’t amount to much.  The corridors are narrow, allowing only a few men to fight side by side.  As they move towards the throne room, they come upon House Preston soldiers using a battering ram on the large, marble doors.  They dispatch them quickly, and Flynn pounds on the door for them to open it for their king.  Rufus, recognizing his voice, yells back from the other side.  Moments later, the throne room doors open, and Sir Connor rushes to his son’s side. 

“Rufus!  Oh, thank the gods you’re alive!” Sir Connor exclaims, as he hugs him tightly.

Rufus winces in pain, and his hand clamps to the wound on his right arm.

“You’re wounded?”

“I’ll live.”

“Where’s Kevin…and Jiya and Lucy?”

Flynn and Denise both eagerly anticipate Rufus’ answer to this question.

“We sent Kevin to the mainland before the siege began.  Jiya and Lucy stayed for a while, but I made them leave when I knew the castle would fall.  I don’t know if they made it out or not.”

“What in seven hells do you mean you don’t know?” Flynn snarls.

“They used the secret passageways to access the tunnels.  They’re supposed to take one of the boats,” Rufus explains.

Flynn flashes to the passageway like a panther pouncing upon its prey.  He sheathes his sword, and draws his dagger, since a blade is a better weapon to wield in a confined space like the passage.  He knows he’s moving quickly, but it doesn’t seem to be fast enough.  As they reach the tunnels, Flynn and Denise go one way and her men go the other.  Enemy forces still roam the island, so they creep as quietly as possible. 

Flynn and Denise exit the tunnel, and find they’re at a higher elevation than the tunnel that empties out into the sea cave.  From this height, he can see the banners of his newfound ally.  It is the Scapanine fleet.  He has no clue why they have come, but he’s grateful for their assistance.  He knows what he’ll have to give in return, but right now finding Lucy consumes his thoughts.

“Look!” Denise yells, as she points to a small row boat in the harbor.

He has no idea how Denise spotted the craft.  It is pitch black, the only light being the moon, stars and flaming arrows.  Two cloaked figures sit in the boat.  They do not row the oars, but instead drift aimlessly with the mercy of the tide.  Flurries of arrows streak across the sky.  A barrage of arrows strike the figures, and the boat ignites into flames.  Flynn stops dead in his tracks.  _No.  Not again.  Not Lucy._  

“That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth,” Jiya states, as she and Lucy stand by the water’s edge. 

“I still think it’s our best chance.  We’ll never make it out of the harbor.  You think you or I can row the boat that far that fast?”

Jiya shakes her head in response.  She knows Lucy is right, she just wishes they had a better plan. 

“They’re going to know it’s not us as soon as they get close enough.  Unless…”

“Unless what?” Lucy asks.

“I might be able to do an illusion spell.  It can buy us more time.”

“What do you need?”

“I’m going to need to draw power from you.  I don’t possess the power necessary to do this on my own,” Jiya explains.

“Alright.  Let’s do this then.”

The women creep out of the cave mouth, and cling close to the rock walls.  They crawl up the embankment, and scout the lay of the land.  Luckily, not too far from where they stand, they spot what they’re searching for.  Quickly, they speed towards an abandoned wagon near the side of the road.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Jiya states to Lucy.

“Anytime you have a better idea, let me know.”

Jiya bends down, and takes the dead soldier’s feet in her hands, as Lucy grabs his head. 

“This guy already stinks!” Jiya exclaims.

“Well, he’s dead.”

“Yes, I know that, Lucy.  I’ve seen my fair share of dead men.”

The women slowly but steadily carry the man’s body back down to the cave’s mouth.  Then, they crawl back up the embankment to procure the second body.  Their arms start to tire halfway there, and they wind up having to drag the guy the rest of the way.  They remove their armor and toss it into the water.  They start to hear the noises of battle draw closer, and rush to undress themselves.  They strip down to just their shifts.  They pull their dresses onto the soldiers, and then drape their cloaks overtop.  It takes both of them to drag each man into the boat and position them upright. 

The wind blows harshly, and they both shiver from the chill in the air.  She takes Lucy’s hands and joins them with hers.  As she performs the incantation, she feels Lucy’s grip loosen little by little.  After she finishes, they push the boat out into the harbor. 

A few minutes later, the sounds of the battle draw near.  They hear the soldiers as they make their way down the tunnels towards the cave.  Lucy and Jiya have only moments to react, and they quickly jump into the cold, black water of the harbor to hide.  They cling closely to the rocks, until they see the soldiers emerge from the tunnel.  They manage to evade the first patrol that comes through, but aren’t so lucky with the second.  This time there are only two guards that patrol the mouth of the cave.  One wanders off and climbs the embankment, while the other pisses in the corner.  When he finishes relieving himself, he turns to follow his fellow soldier when he stops.  He walks to the water’s edge.  Jiya prays he won’t look directly down, since Lucy’s right underneath him in the water. 

Suddenly, he lurches forward, grabs Lucy’s shift with both hands, and yanks her up and out of the water into the air with ease.  Jiya wants to cry out, but she’s too far away from her.  Slowly, she reaches down and grasps the dagger strapped to her thigh.  She doesn’t want to have to take a life, but she will if she has to.  When she gazes back up, she witnesses Lucy raise her right hand and stab the soldier with her dagger in a frenzied fashion.  Blood and sinew spew and spurt like an erupting geyser from the soldier’s body.  He instinctively releases his hold on Lucy, and she crashes back into the water before the soldier’s body topples onto her.  Jiya sees the horrified look on her face when she plunges the dagger into his chest over and over again.  She can only imagine what Lucy must feel like right now, having just murdered a man in cold blood with her bare hands at such a close range. 

The guard that went up the embankment must have heard the loud splash that Lucy and the soldier’s bodies created, because he appears from around the corner of the cave shortly thereafter.  Jiya glances in Lucy’s direction.  Lucy clings to the rocks with all her might, as she shivers beneath the frigid water.  She has a blank stare stuck on her face.  She _will_ be caught.  The soldier notices his companion’s body as it floats, and he rushes over towards it.  _She’s going to have to kill this man in order to save Lucy’s life, isn’t she?_   She musters up enough courage to pull herself out of the water, when suddenly, the soldier takes an arrow to the back.  As he turns to view his attacker, a second arrow pierces his armor and lands in the middle of his chest.  He peers down at the arrow, and then slumps to his knees, as he draws his last breath.  Jiya twists around to the area the arrow came from.  At first, she thinks her eyes are playing a trick on her, but then it sinks in that her mother is _really_ there.  It was _her_ arrows that dispatched the soldier.  The prince is right behind her, sword drawn and bloody. 

“Mother!”

“Jiya!”

She slogs out of the water, her limbs heavy and numb.  Denise speeds to her daughter’s side, and helps her back onto the shoreline. 

“Lucy.  You have to help Lucy,” she states with considerable effort, as she gasps for air.

Flynn pushes past them and barrels into the water.  He reaches Lucy in no time flat.  She still clings to the rocks, dagger still in hand.  He touches her arm and she spins on him, her hand clenching the dagger, ready to strike like a coiled cobra.  He grabs the dagger with his bare hand, ignoring the nasty cut he receives, and wrenches it from her.  He tosses the dagger into the sea, and cups Lucy’s cheeks in his hands. 

“Lucy!  Lucy, it’s me.  You’re safe now.  You’re safe.”

He must reach her somehow, because the next thing Jiya knows, Lucy flings her arms around his neck, as he pulls her into his arms.  They exit the water, and he gently places her on the ground.  He orders one of his soldiers to give him his cloak, and he wraps it around Lucy.  She shakes uncontrollably, and he gathers her into his arms again, as he makes his way back into the tunnel.

 


	15. Blood Of My Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol receives news and an invitation. Denise comforts Lucy in her hour of need. Carol and Noah attend Emma and Nicholas’ nuptials. Carol and Amy reunite. Amy makes an interesting find in the crypts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General violence warning for this chapter.

**_King’s Keep_ **

Lady Carol Preston sits in the Tower of the Hand, as she anxiously anticipates word from her husband.  What she was not expecting, was that the king would personally deliver the raven’s scroll to her.  The expression on his face tells her everything; the news is not good.  King Noah’s hands tremble as he provides her the scroll.  The tears stream down her face as she reads it.  Her husband…is dead.  Her enemies are also preventing her from providing him a proper burial in the crypts of Rittenfell, with the rest of his kin, as they have been unable to retrieve his body.

“I’m so sorry, my lady.  They will pay for what they’ve done!”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

She is naturally upset, but not for the reasons most people would think.  Her marriage to Sir Benjamin Preston has enabled her to live at a certain standard, and has also allowed her access to power.  They have a mutual respect for each other, and she may have loved him at one time.  Now, she finds herself in a position she has never been in before.  She’s powerless.  Had Lucy married the king, she could’ve stayed in the capital as the queen’s mother.  Even if she could guarantee the marriage in a short time period, she could’ve stayed.  But, with Lucy being held hostage, she cannot guarantee anything.  She will have to leave the capital, and then she will be at the mercy of the new Lord of Rittenfell, her brother-by-law, Nicholas.  She knows he will never afford her the respect to be the Lady of Rittenfell still.  She will be lucky if he still allows her to live in the castle.  She has to act quickly.  Even though King Noah remains adamant about marrying Lucy, perhaps she can finagle it for Amy to take her place.  If she can get the king to fall for her youngest daughter, she can still maintain her access to power. 

She’s about to send a raven to summon her daughter to the capital, when another servant arrives with another scroll for her.  

“More news, my lady?” King Noah questions.

“So much for mourning the dead.  Apparently, my sister and my brother-by-law think this is a wonderful time for their nuptials.”

“Again, I am sorry for your predicament, my lady.  But, with your husband gone, I do need to secure Lord Nicholas’ continuing cooperation in this war.  I will accompany you to Rittenfell for the wedding.”

It’s not at all what she had planned, but it might work to her advantage if the king comes.  He will meet Amy, and with any luck, she can secure their match right under her sister and brother-by-law’s noses.  If not, she will have to move on to her last option: remarriage (which, at her age isn’t really an option at all). 

“I would appreciate the company on the journey, Your Grace.  I will have my servants prepare at once,” Carol responds with a curtsy.

**_Hardstone_ ** **, _Isle of Burgundy_**

Lucy clings to the prince, as she burrows her head into the crook of his neck.  She feels the warmth of his body sear her like flames from dragon’s fire.  She clenches his neck tighter.  Safe.  She feels safe.  Safe for the first time since he left the island. 

When they enter the throne room, Rufus jumps up with excitement.  She hears him, she just refuses to turn her head, still basking in the warmth of the prince.  She physically _cannot_ separate herself from that feeling at the moment.  His solid, muscular arms envelope her, as she lets out a jagged breath.  She can sense her heartrate is dropping, as it beats in sync with his.  How this man can be a comfort to her more than anyone else is an enigma, and she doesn’t even care if he wants this or not.  She’s _not_ letting go.

“Lucy!  Jiya!”

“We’re okay, Rufus.  Well, mostly,” Jiya answers, as she gazes over at Lucy.

She is not okay, not by any stretch.  She just killed a man.  His blood still stains her face and hair.  Not to mention, she literally lit the fuses that killed thousands the day before.  No, Lady Lucy Preston is as far from okay as she currently is from Rittenfell.  

What occurs after that is a blur.  Somehow, she winds up back in her chamber.  Her maids prepare a hot bath and attempt to remove her shift.  She flinches back from them, folds her arms around herself and repeats “no” over and over again.  When one of them grabs her arm, she flails her arms and punches and kicks the girl until she leaves. 

She pulls the shift off of herself and slips into the water.  It’s definitely too hot, and she’s scalding her skin, but she finds it hard to muster the strength to care.  She just sits there, as she stares off into space.  _What has she done?  What has she become?_ She barely recognizes herself anymore.  The old her would’ve never killed anyone, even in self-defense.  She keeps telling herself that it _was_ self-defense, but the doubts creep back continually.  _Would the soldier have killed her or just taken her prisoner?_    

Flynn, Denise, Jiya, Rufus and Sir Connor gather in the war room.  Jiya tends to Rufus’ wound, while the others assess the casualty damage.  Two people appear; one a common soldier, the other, one of Lady Lucy’s handmaidens.  Everyone in the room does a double take at the handmaid.  Jiya even stops stitching Rufus’ wound.  Sir Connor walks toward them both, and addresses the soldier first.

“The Magister of Scapa is waiting for His Grace in the throne room.”

Sir Connor nods and dismisses the soldier, then turns to the handmaid.

“It’s Lady Lucy.  She won’t let anyone touch or help her.  She’s just sitting in scalding water staring off into space.  I don’t know what else to do.”

“Thank you.  I’ll take care of it,” Sir Connor replies, as he turns to the prince with a raised eyebrow. 

“Let me see if I can talk to her,” Denise offers.  “I’ve known Lucy since she was a little girl.  Does she know about her father yet?”

“No.  I wanted to be the one to tell her, but…”

“I will use my discretion on that one, if you don’t mind, Your Grace.”

“You need to get your wound tended to anyway,” Sir Connor reminds him, as Jiya finishes with Rufus’ bandage.

Denise leaves the room, and the prince removes his gorget, gambeson and shirt so Jiya can inspect his wound. 

“There’s also the Magister, Your Grace.  I’m sure you know what he will expect in payment for the assistance they have provided?” Sir Connor questions.

“And, we’ve discussed this ad nauseam.  The people of Ritten will never support me if I have a foreign queen.”

“The laws of our land state you must compensate him in equal value.  You _must_ marry Lady Jeniah,” Sir Connor advises with authority.

“What about the law of my fist to your face?” Flynn grumbles.

He is in a difficult position.  Both he and Sir Connor are correct.  Lady Jeniah is beautiful, but she isn’t Lucy.  He wants Lucy.  When he found out from Rufus and Jiya what Lucy had done during the siege, he knew he loved her.  She killed her own family’s men to save the lives of his, along with the common folk and her friends.  She ensured Kevin’s safety, the palace staff’s safety; everyone but herself.  So tiny, yet so brave. 

Jiya stitches and bandages his wound, and then she and Rufus leave.  He paces back and forth like a caged animal, as he tries to think of alternatives to his situation. 

“I know it’s not ideal, or what you truly want, but perhaps you can marry Lady Jeniah and keep Lucy around as your mistress?” Sir Connor asks with hesitancy.

“I could never do that …to her.  Eventually, one way or another, this war will be over.  If I become king, I’ll release her.  If I don’t….”

“You won’t have to worry about it.”

He nods.  He has to give up on this pipe dream of marrying Lucy.  It will never happen.  But, he doesn’t have to stop loving her.  He can’t do it.  He sighs heavily, pulls on a brand new shirt and his bloody gambeson.  He has his servant fetch him one of his black tabards, and he puts that on top of the gambeson, and then fastens the gorget around his neck.  He purposely wears all black, and knows he looks his most intimidating right after a battle.  He also knows that sometimes kings have to do things they don’t want to.  This is one of those times.

“Lucy?” Denise calls, as she knocks gently on her chamber door.

There is no response, so Denise opens the door.  She finds Lucy in the exact condition the handmaid described.  Denise bends down next to the tub, and takes Lucy’s hand in hers.  Lucy flinches and tries to pull away, but Denise holds firm.  That seems to snap Lucy back to reality.

“Lady Marri?”

“Lucy, I told you a long time ago, you can call me Denise.”

Lucy nods her head.  Denise picks up the cloth, dips it into the water, and begins to wipe the blood from Lucy’s forehead. 

“How are you doing?”

“I killed that man.  I killed thousands,” Lucy replies, as she burst into tears.

“You did what you needed to do.  You saved my daughter, Lucy.”

Lucy smiles back at her.  

“I know this is difficult right now, but it will get better.  I promise.  And remember, you’re not alone here.”

“I know I have you and Jiya.  And, Rufus and Kevin.”

“You have His Grace as well.  He is _quite_ concerned about you.”

Lucy raises her brow in disbelief. 

“Take my word on it.  There is something else that I need to tell you.  Something that will be upsetting to hear, but you need to know.  You’re father, he’s-he’s dead.”

Lucy breaks down into tears again, and Denise cradles her in her arms as she cries.

“How?” Lucy asks, as she raises her head and looks at Denise.

“You don’t need to concern yourself with that dear.”

“ _How?”_ Lucy demands.

**_Rittenfell_ **

As Carol and the King exit the carriage, she sees the entire household has gathered to greet them.  Once her sister and brother-by-law pay their proper respects, the king turns to Amy, who smiles widely while she curtsies.  Carol watches his reaction with intense scrutiny.  Her welcome is less enthusiastic than the others give the king, except for her daughter.  Carol is led to one of the guest rooms by the servants, and Amy appears in her doorway shortly thereafter.  The two embrace tightly, and then Carol stands up and shuts the door, after checking the hallway for any eavesdroppers. 

“Amy, you need to make an impression on the king.  What are you wearing this evening for this wedding?”

Amy describes the gown she’s planning to wear.

“Oh no, no.  That will not do at all.  Do you still have any of your sister’s dresses here?”

“I think so.”

Carol follows Amy to her chambers, selects another gown for her to wear, and then ambles back to her own chambers to change. 

A few hours later, she’s informed the wedding is about to start.  She rendezvous with Amy, and makes her way down to the snow-covered gardens.  Amy wears an emerald green silk skirt, and a matching corset with ruching.  The gown has a sheer overlay in the same emerald green color, with cape sleeves that are open in the front, with a long train in the back.  The overlay has green beading and the collar is embroidered and connects to more of the same down the middle of the gown, ending in a belt.  Her jewelry consists of matching bracelets on her wrists. 

“You look beautiful, my dear.  You wear that dress much better than your sister ever could.”

Amy smiles back at her.  Carol wears a purple silk, sunburst-pleated skirt, with a purple and gold brocade kimono wrap dress over top, which is held together with two golden claps below the bustline.  She has on a large, amethyst necklace, with matching ring and earrings.

The glow of lanterns illuminates the path, as a dusting of snow falls from the night sky.  It reminds Carol of her own wedding, all those years ago.  She was married at her ancestral seat, as is the custom, so it figures her sister would do the complete opposite.  Emma always tried to do better than her, but Carol always had the fact that she married into House Preston as the deciding factor.  Now, her baby sister will be marrying into the same house, but the power dynamic has shifted considerably. 

She takes her place next to the king, and Amy stands next to her.  Nicholas stands next to the priestess.  He’s dressed in a green brocade doublet, with a button-down, off-white jerkin over top, embroidered with white wolves on the shoulders, the sigil of House Ritten.  On the left side of his chest, he wears a bronze broach in the shape of the all-seeing eye, the sigil of House Preston.  They choose to be married in the tradition of the northerners, the tradition of the old gods.  Most of the rest of the country follows the new gods, but the northerners cling to their ancient traditions with steadfast resolve. 

Everyone waits as they spot the light of a lone lantern in the distance.  Two soldiers bearing the white owl sigil of House Whitmore hold the lantern and escort the bride-to-be.  She is dressed in a long, white, silk gown, with kimono sleeves. It’s embroidered with owls made of white and blue beading and she wears a dark blue cloak over top.  She joins Nicholas in front of the priestess and removes the hood from her cloak.  She turns to face him, and they join hands as the priestess begins to wrap the white silk ribbon around their united palms. 

“Who gives this woman to this man?” the priestess asks.

Everyone looks around.  Emma’s father died long ago, and there are no male heirs to speak of. 

“I do,” Carol states with a smirk.

Emma gives her a death stare, as the priestess nods and continues with the ceremony. 

“In the presence of your kin and your ancestors, do you Emma of House Whitmore, daughter of Lord Henry Whitmore and Lady Ruth of House Wallace, take this man to be your husband?”

“I am his and he is mine, for this night and all nights to come.”

“In the presence of your kin and your ancestors, do you Nicholas of House Preston, son of Lord Ethan Preston and Lady Allison of House Pope, take this woman to be your wife?”

“I am hers and she is mine, for this night and all nights to come.”

“I proclaim you, Lord and Lady Preston.  You may kiss the bride.”

Nicholas grabs Emma with force, and pulls her to him as he plants a passionate kiss on her lips.

The wedding guests erupt into cheers, and follow the newlywed couple back to the great hall.

Amy is glad to see her mother again, but she wishes her sister was here as well.  She misses Lucy.  She hopes and prays daily that she’s alive and treated with decency.  Lucy may be the daughter that everyone _knows_ is intelligent, but Amy is no slouch herself, and she quickly figures out what her mother is up to.  She wants no parts of it whatsoever.  Amy’s never been the dutiful daughter.  She has always been a bit of a wild child.  She knows there is no way she can ever be proper enough to be queen. 

After she finishes her meal at the wedding feast, Amy bides her time to plan her escape from this fiasco.  The wine flows freely and the music is loud, as the happy couple dances together.  Amy does her obligatory dance with King Noah as well, and puts on her best fake smile the entire time in order to please her mother.  When the king requests a dance with the bride, she finds her opportunity.  Quickly, she slips out of the great hall, and makes her way out into the courtyard. 

The snow falls harder now, and a northerly wind brings the cold down from The Tundra with a frosty fervor.  She shivers slightly, and as she turns to go back inside, she feels a hand tap her on the shoulder.  She pivots on her heel, and squeals with delight as she finds Silas, a young soldier at the castle who has taken a liking to Amy.  Amy’s feelings are definitely reciprocal.  He has a reddish-brown tint to his hair, big, brown eyes and broad shoulders.  He’s always been sweet to her.  Emboldened by her overindulgence in wine, Amy grabs Silas’ hand and leads him down into the crypts. 

“My lady, what are you-?”

Amy kisses him smack on the lips.  Silas is a statue momentarily, but then he kisses her back.  Amy lights a torch, and leads him deeper into the crypts, until they reach the tomb of Princess Lucy.  It’s where she comes to talk to her sister.  She knows it’s weird.  The body buried here is their ancestor, nothing more.  But for some reason, she feels close to her sister here.  Amy pulls Silas in for another kiss.  To hell with her mother and her schemes.  She’s going to do what she wants.  And right now, she wants to have an epic make out session with a cute boy.

In hindsight, Carol should have suspected her sister was up to no good.  She was being way too nice and _way_ too friendly.  The only problem is, she still hasn’t been able to figure out what exactly Emma is doing.  She knows it has something to do with an ancient weapon; a weapon her husband was sent to secure; a weapon her husband lost his life for.  She has to be clever if she wants to discover what that weapon is.  Perhaps, she will have better luck if she plies her skills on Nicholas.  The king catches her sight again, and Emma and her weapon move to the back of Carol’s mind.  _Where the hell did Amy get to now?  She should be here attending to the king._   Carol scans the crowded hall, but finds no sight of her.  Suddenly, she feels a hand on her shoulder.  She turns to find her sister, with a large smirk plastered on her face, and an extra goblet of wine in her hand.  She hands Carol the goblet, and clanks her own against it.

“Sister!” Emma exclaims, as she pulls her into a tight embrace.

Carol cringes when she hears Emma’s voice.  There has never been much love lost between them.  Sure, they’re sisters, but they have never been close.  Emma is closer in age to Lucy, and they never lived under the same roof in their lives.  She’s always felt like Emma envied her.  As the eldest daughter, she was afforded the better marriage match.  You couldn’t get any higher up than a Preston, unless you married royalty, so Carol felt like she had hit the jackpot.  Now, her baby sister is a Preston as well. 

“Where is that pretty niece of mine hiding?” Emma questions, as she surveys the crowd of wedding guests. 

“Oh, she’s around here somewhere.”

“Good.”

Emma nods to someone behind Carol.  She turns around, as the guards shut the large, heavy doors to the great hall.  House Whitmore’s soldiers, along with the soldiers of House Preston who are loyal to Nicholas, unsheathe their swords and daggers and plunge them into the soldiers of House Preston that remain loyal to Carol.  Carol releases a blood-curdling scream, as chairs topple and tables flip.  Her men never have a chance to repel the attack.  They’ve been led like lambs to the slaughter.  Neither she, nor her men, ever suspected, nor are they prepared for, an in-house attack.  She covers her eyes, and prays this is some horrible nightmare.  The sounds of slashing flesh and dying men echo through the great hall. 

When the chaos ensues, Emma shoves King Noah behind her.  He stands there in shock at what is transpiring before him.  Hand on the hilt of his own blade, his king’s guard surround him, and he readies to defend himself.  Blood covers the floors, walls, tables and chairs, and bodies are bestrewn in every direction.  The room resembles a battlefield, replete and rife with devastation.  Once the carnage has been carried out, the king turns to look at Emma and Nicholas.

“They weren’t loyal to their new Lord and Lady,” Nicholas blurts out, as if he anticipates the king’s question. 

The king turns to Carol, who gazes back with wide eyes.

Clearly flustered, Carol takes in heavy breaths and then huffs out loudly.  “I knew nothing of this, Your Grace.”

“You no longer have any power, sister.  Of course you didn’t,” Emma laughs.

Carol flares her nostrils in frustration and rage.  If the king wasn’t standing directly in front of her, she would strangle her sister right now, wedding night or no wedding night.  She opens her mouth to respond with her normal biting sarcasm, but as she does her throat clenches and tightens.  She gasps for air.  It feels like she’s being strangled from the inside out.  Emma moves closer to her and their eyes meet.  Comprehension hits her as hard as stone, her pupils dilate and she shakes violently.  _Her own sister, her own blood, has poisoned her._   Blood and bile spew from her lips and face, her hands turn purple, and her legs weaken.  Her veins feel like they’re filling with lava, and the pain scorches her body from head to toe.  She falls to her knees, and clutches the hem of Emma’s wedding dress.  She manages enough strength to glance up at her sister, just in time to witness that evil smirk she’s known for so long.  She closes her eyes, and embraces the darkness of death.

“Now, where is that niece of mine?  When I find her, I’m gonna burn her like the little witch she is,” Nicholas mutters.

Amy has let this go a little further than she was planning, but it _is_ a wedding and she _is_ a little tipsy.  She has her back up against Princess Lucy’s tomb, as their make out session continues.  As she pulls Silas closer to her, she feels something shift behind her.  She stops kissing Silas, and turns around.  In the dimly lit darkness, there is an old piece of cloth that hangs from a loose brick on the back wall of the tomb. 

“What the hell is that?” Amy questions, as she instinctively moves closer.

Silas follows behind her, and holds the torch up to the wall so they can get a better look.  She pulls the rag from the wall, and unwraps it.  Inside, is a leather-bound book, worn with years of age. 

“What is it?” Silas asks.

“A book.”

Amy wipes the dust off and opens the spine.  She thumbs quickly through the pages.

“It’s a journal,” Amy answers, as she holds up the book.

Suddenly, they hear chaos from above.  It sounds like a battle has broken out.  They hear the faint metal clinking of swords, followed by screams.

“Stay here and out of sight.  I’m going to try to find out what’s going on.  I’ll be right back,” Silas instructs, as he places a kiss to Amy’s forehead.

Amy holds the journal tightly to her chest, scared to move or even breathe at this point.  She waits for Silas to come back for what feels like an eternity.  Finally, she hears footsteps.  She stays in her hiding spot behind the tomb, until she hears his voice.

“My lady,” he whispers.

Amy pokes her head out from behind the tomb.

“What’s going on?”

“Shush.  Keep your voice down.  We need to leave.  _Now!”_

“What?  Leave?  Why?”

“There’s no time to explain.  Is there another way out of the crypts?”

Amy stares back at him in shock and disbelief.  He takes her forearms and shakes her lightly.

“My lady, is there another way?” he pleads.

Amy snaps back to reality, and nods her head.

“Show me.  We need to leave.”

Amy leads Silas further into the depths of the crypts.  The air is thicker and mustier, which makes it much harder to breathe.  They make their way through the labyrinth of corridors, and reach the lower level.   

“There’s a door at the end of this corridor.  It leads out into the woods.  We need to move quickly.  The ceiling is no longer stable and can collapse at any time.  I just pray we can manage to unseal the door.  No one has used it in centuries.”

Silas grabs her cheeks and plants one more kiss.  He takes her hand in his, and leads them speedily down the corridor until they reach the door.  After a few minutes of them both pushing, the door gives way and opens into the cold, dark night.  Silas exits first, surveils the area and then reaches his hand back for Amy.  She takes his hand, and he pulls her through the door.  It takes the both of them to shut it again.  They hear the commotion from the castle, and stoop down next to a tall tree.  Silas again scouts the area, and then pulls Amy further into the woods. 

She’s filling with panic, but she keeps up the pace with him.  She tries to stop a few times, but Silas doesn’t let her.  They travel until the first rays of morning break the horizon. 

“We need to find a place to hide.  They’ll be looking for you, and they can cover more ground on horseback.”

“Fine.  Are you ever going to tell me what happened?”

Silas gazes at her softly, with a somber expression on his face.

“Your mother was killed by Lady Preston, along with all of her men.  Lord Preston sent his men to find you next,” Silas answers in a half-whisper.

Amy bursts into tears, and Silas gathers her into his arms. 

“My lady, I know this is hard, but if you want to live, we need to find somewhere to lay low.”

Amy nods.  He takes her hand and leads her further down the wooded path.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The inspiration for this came directly from Game of Thrones, as GoT fans will obviously note. The Red Wedding is effectively brutal in any fandom, and it's one of the craziest scenes ever, so I had to pay it homage.


	16. The Mistress of Misery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flynn seeks advice from Denise. Flynn’s betrothed arrives at the island. Lucy and Flynn have another encounter. A messenger brings ill news. Lucy and Jeniah clash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope people are enjoying this. The chess pieces will all start to come together shortly. As always, thanks for reading, commenting and for your kudos.

**_Hardstone_ **

Lucy has not spoken to him since she found out about her father’s death.  He does not blame her for how she feels, but she hasn’t heard the entire story.  Her version of her father is not the version that Sir Benjamin Preston presented to the rest of the world.  Try as he may, he doesn’t know that feeling.  His father was the same ruthless bastard to him as he had been to everyone else.  But Lucy has been sheltered for most of her life, locked away in that beautiful, old castle, like a prized jewel.  She doesn’t know all the horrors her father has orchestrated in his lifetime, including his part in the murder of the prince’s family.  He told her, but you cannot make someone else see what you can see plain as day.  To Lucy, her father was doting, ran interference with her mother on her behalf, and was a man to be respected.  To everyone else, he was a man to be respected as well, but he was a man that one _feared_ more than anything. 

It’s late in the evening and he just wants a few moments of peace and quiet to himself.  He makes his way out onto the terrace of his chambers which overlook the private courtyard garden on one side and the sea on the other.  He inhales the scent of the salt sea and the jasmine blooming in the courtyard garden.  It’s always been one of his favorite places to go when he lived here.  Yet, he found he couldn’t bring himself to go out there when he first took back the island.  Too many memories.  Why tonight is the night he finally conquers his fear of those memories, he can’t say. 

Choices and various scenarios run through his head, as he tries to decide on his next course of action.  He hasn’t heard back from Anthony, Wyatt is missing in action, and Connor is driving him crazy about his newly-decided betrothal.  What he needs is brutal honesty, and since the only person on this island that he can always receive it from is currently not speaking to him for murdering her father, he sends for Lady Marri.  Denise has always been straight with him, even if she panders to his ego slightly.  She’s no Lucy, but she’s the best he has at the moment. 

He hears the chamber door open and Lady Marri is announced.  She joins him on the terrace and sidles up next to him without uttering a word.  After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, she turns to him with concern on her face.

“You wanted to see me, Your Grace?”

“I did.  I’ve been informed you’re returning to Castle Christopher in the morning.”

“I am, Your Grace.”

“I want to let you know that I have been _quite_ impressed by your daughter’s skills.  I would like to request her as my personal healer, if that would be permissible?” he asks hesitantly.

“Of course, Your Grace.  I’m sure she would be honored.”

Silence befalls them again, and out of the corner of his eye, he spots a figure down below on the beach.  The figure is cloaked and hooded, yet he can tell it’s a woman by the outline of her shadow in the pale moonlight.  She strolls the beach in no particular pattern, as the illuminating glow of the lantern emanates from her hand.  His ears are greeted by the sounds of a siren call.  He should never be able to hear her over the crashing waves from his vantage point, yet somehow her lilting intonation echoes up to the terrace, as if the wind carries it there itself. 

“She’s done this every night since I informed her about her father.  We have both known grief in our lifetimes, but _that_ is not just grief.  At first, I thought it was only shock.  But, when I looked in her eyes…”

“What?  What was it?” he asks, with a desperation to his voice that even he finds unsettling.

“She stabbed a man at close range,” Denise replies with a frown.

He stares back at her for a moment.  Her words (in his opinion), denote nothing additional to explain Lucy’s strange behavior.  Denise looks back at him, then continues her explanation after examining his reaction.

“She’s not like us, Your Grace.  We’re warriors.  We’ve stared death down more times than either of us can count.  She’s basically experienced trauma after trauma from the time she left her home.”

It hits him like a four ton brick.  Denise is right and he has never given any of it another thought.  He’s a killer and was trained that way since he was a young boy.  Lucy-beautiful Lucy, is kind and gentle.  He’s been the one endangering her the most, and she has been the one to suffer the worst of all of them.

“She barely eats.  She doesn’t speak to anyone, except maybe Kevin.  Your men continue to refer to her as the kin-slayer.  Plus, according to Jiya, her actions during the siege are haunting her.  She doesn’t have just the death of one man on her conscience, she has _thousands_!  I’m worried that she may never recover.  Or worse…”

“What do you mean worse?” he snaps.

“Do you know the story of her namesake?  The first Lucy of House Preston?”

“The woman who betrayed her own kin for the good of the people and elevated _my_ house to the throne?  I’m a Flynn.  _Of course_ I know the story.”

“Do you know how her story ended?”

“She ruled House Preston, alongside her husband, until the day she died.  She made it into the powerhouse it is today.”

“All _mostly_ true.  She died young and heartbroken.  And, worst of all, she went mad in the last year of her life.  A shell of her former glorious self.  I do not want that to be Lucy’s fate as well.”

“Why would the fate of her namesake have an impact on Lucy?”

“Your Grace, I would think _you_ of all people know history always finds a way to repeat itself.”

“Not this time,” he mutters under his breath.

“Did you say something, Your Grace?”

He shakes his head in response and glances back to the beach, but Lucy has disappeared. 

Lucy’s been informed her presence will be required for the procession to welcome Lady Jeniah to Hardstone.  She still mourns her father, and will not be expected to be in a cheery mood.  She dresses herself in a plain, black, silk gown.  She has bags under her eyes from lack of sleep, and her dresses have begun to hang off of her body from the amount of weight she continues to lose.  The grief is consuming and haunting, and she subsists on sorrow and tears like they’re bread and water. 

She makes her way to the castle entrance and falls in the processional line next to Jiya.  Jiya squeezes her hand and shoots her a sympathetic smile.  She feels the prince’s eyes on her as Lady Jeniah’s litter approaches the gate.  The servants carrying the litter stop and lower it to the ground.  The prince approaches and extends his hand to help her out.  An audible gasp descends from the crowd, as she exits the litter.  She’s more beautiful than Lucy remembered.  She’s donning a sky-blue, long, silk gown with cap sleeves.  The bodice of the gown is a lighter shade of blue, and is encrusted with crystals.  The prince and Jeniah walk hand-in-hand down the walkway, as the various lords and ladies bow and curtsy; except for Lucy.  As far as she’s concerned, she will not give deference to a woman who holds the same social rank, even if she did considered the prince her sovereign.  The prince pays her no attention, but Lady Jeniah _definitely_ notices.  Lucy doesn’t mean any personal disrespect to her (she doesn’t even know the woman), but it’s the principle of it all.

The procession ends, and it will be more than a few hours before the feast will be held.  She doesn’t understand why she dreads going.  It’s merely a formal feast to announce the betrothal of Lady Jeniah to the prince.  The prince who imprisoned her, killed her father and makes her blood boil.  The man she thinks she hates with every fiber of her being.  But, he’s also the prince who told her how brave she was when she saved little Kevin, the prince she shared a moment with on the staircase, and the man who saved her life by calling for a healer.  She’s conflicted to say the least. 

Eventually, the time to feast arrives and Lucy drags herself down to the great hall.  She wanders aimlessly towards the high table, when a servant grabs her arm. 

“My lady, you will be dining with the rest of the household staff this evening.  I do apologize.  Lady Jeniah’s household prepared the seating arrangements for this evening’s feast,” he explains.

Lucy’s incredulous, but then she thinks about why this happened.  For some unknown reason, Jeniah feels threatened by Lucy’s presence.  After all, she only knows Lucy as the competition.  Jeniah has no idea that Lucy’s a hostage, not a guest.  If she had her handmaidens ask the staff about her, they most likely told her she was little Kevin’s tutor.  This isn’t a lie, as she has been mentoring the young boy since her arrival on the island.  She takes her seat with the rest of the household staff and leaves a space next to her for little Kevin.  He usually sits next to Rufus at the high table, but who knows with Lady Jeniah in charge.  Plus, since Lucy lost her father, he’s been attached to her hip as much as possible. 

When Jiya enters the hall, she spies Lucy sitting at the table with the staff, still dressed in her plain, black gown.  Jiya raises her eyebrow in confusion, as she glances at Lucy. 

“Why are you sitting here?”

“Lady Jeniah.”

That’s all she has to say, as Jiya nods her head in comprehension. 

“I’ll be right back,” Jiya states, as she pats Lucy on the shoulder and walks out of the hall.

Sometime later, Jiya reappears, now in her red healer gown instead of the fancy, yellow organza one she had on earlier.  She walks around to the other side of the table and sits across from Lucy.

“What are you doing?” Lucy whispers.

“If you’re part of the household staff, so am I.”

Everyone else takes their respective seats, including little Kevin, who sits down right next to Lucy as she predicted. 

The prince and Lady Jeniah enter the hall together, hands intertwined, to the sounds of raucous cheers.  They take their spots at the high table.  It’s only then that the prince realizes Lucy and Jiya are missing from his table.  When he spies them, his eyes meet Lucy’s and he stares in disbelief.  He leans over to Sir Connor, who is sitting to the right of him.

“Why are Lady Marri and Lady Preston with the staff?”

“Your betrothed thought they should be with their own kind,” he replies hesitantly.

Flynn frowns and grumbles something under his breath.  Lady Jeniah places her hand on his forearm and he turns his head back to her.

“Why is _she_ still here?”

“Who?”

“Lady Preston.  If you chose me, Your Grace, why is she still here?”

_Because, I’m in love with her.  She’s also a hostage, but lately he feels like their roles have been reversed.  She may not physically hold his body hostage, but she certainly holds his heart._  

“I don’t need to explain any of my decisions to you,” he snaps.

Jeniah flinches in surprise and pulls her hand back from his arm.  Yes, he has to marry her, but he doesn’t have to like it.  If she thinks she’ll be able to easily manipulate him, she’s in for a rude awakening.

The remainder of the meal is slightly awkward and the tension is palpable between them.  The servants remove the leftover food from the tables, as some of the guests stretch their legs.  When he glances back over to Lucy’s table, she’s gone.  He has a strong inclination of where she most likely is, and as soon as the opportunity presents itself, he slips out of the feast. 

He descends down the stone staircase that leads onto the beach.  He moves so quickly that he almost runs right by her.  She stands on the staircase, as she leans against the stone wall and gazes out at the crashing waves.  He only spies her when the cloud cover clears, allowing the moonlight to shine down with its illuminating glow, as the lantern she carries is unlit at her feet.  Her black gown and cloak conceal her presence among the shadows, as if the darkness itself is swallowing and claiming her soul.  The mistress of misery.  Misery that he himself had a great part in. 

He’s unable to tell if she hears him as he approaches.  She stays completely still, like a statue cast to forever gaze upon the glistening sea.  He advances slowly, careful not to disturb the wild wolf inside.  He stands to her left and glances over at her as he clears his throat. 

“Do you believe in the gods?” she asks suddenly.

He blinks his eyes, taken aback by her question.  He pauses, not sure how to answer her.  He was raised in the light of the seven, the new gods.  He never questioned them as a young man.  After the murders of his family though, he questions _everything_. 

“Lu-Lady Preston, I-I’m not sure how to answer that.”

She stares straight ahead still, never once glancing in his direction. 

“It’s quite simple.  Either you do, or you don’t.”

“Depends on which gods you’re asking about,” he responds with a sly smile.

_That_ gets her attention.  She turns to face him, her eyes full of wonder and curiosity, returning the light in her eyes, if only for a fleeting moment.

“I assume you were raised in the light of the seven,” Lucy states with authority.

“I was.  And, you were raised with the old gods.  Thus, my confusion as to which you were referring to.”

“I’m asking about your gods.  Why would I ask you about my gods?”

“I don’t know.  I can tell you this though, I believe more in your gods than my own.  I don’t know how one can’t after the things I’ve recently witnessed.”

She tilts her head at him, still sporting that puzzled expression on her face. 

“What things have you seen?”

He snickers slightly at the anticipation in her voice.

“You’re miraculous recovery, for one.”

“My-that’s all Jiya,” she replies with a wave of her hand.

His facial expression betrays him immediately, and of course, Lucy picks up on it.  _Always so perceptive._  

“Or was it?”

“Lady Marri _may_ have performed a little spell in addition to her healing skills.”

Her mouth drops open and she stands there speechless as she stares at him. 

“Sorry, I thought you knew.”

She shakes her head and then quickly changes the subject again.

“So, now you believe in the old gods?”

“I _said,_ I believe _more_ in your gods than my own.  I didn’t say that I was a true believer.”

“I believed in the gods.  I believed I was fated for something special.  I believed there was a reason my parents named me after a great and powerful woman.  I used to have, what I thought at least, was a special connection to them…”

“And, now?”

“Now, they mock me.  I no longer feel them.  The bond is broken.  All I know now is darkness.”

“My lady-”

“There are no more dreams of walking with wolves or whispers of wisdom from ancestors.  I had all my dreams laid at my feet, and one by one, they were snatched from my grasp.  I have been twisted into someone I do not recognize.  I’m a murdered, a kin-slayer…a monster,” she whispers, as tears stream down her cheeks.

He lifts his hands and cups her cheeks, as he tilts her head so their eyes meet. 

“ _You_ , are _not_ a monster.  Those who kill to save their own lives are _not_ murderers.  You may have slain your own kin, but you saved your friends, the servants and the villagers.  _You_ , are kind and considerate, intelligent and impressive, fierce and brave, beautiful and good.  _You_ , do not dwell in darkness and shadow.  _You_ , are the light that dispels the darkness with the first rays of dawn.”

The way she looks back at him melts his heart.  The spark that had once been so prevalent in her eyes flickers again.  Hope rekindles.  He does not try to hide the look of desperation on his face.  He has to get through to her.  He can no longer watch as she slips away into nothingness.  The sudden urge to kiss her creeps up within him, and his gaze lingers on her lips. 

“Lucy, I truly am sorry for all the suffering you have had to endure, especially on my part.  And, I know that you do not believe me, but I am sorry for the loss of your father.”

“My father!  You mean the man you murdered?” she snaps, as she pulls away from him.

He didn’t mean to ruin the progress they just made, but he needs her to understand why he did what he did. 

“You don’t know the whole story, Lucy.  Your father-he was not a man of honor.  He was the mastermind behind my family’s murders.  He took what he wanted, regardless of who or what was in his way.  His ambition and greed were his ultimate downfall.  Originally, I might have just imprisoned him, but after he offered-”

“Offered what?”

He swallows hard, tugs at the collar of his tunic, and looks down to avert her gaze.  She repeats her question.  He sighs before he looks back up at her.

“You.”

Her mouth drops open. 

“ _And_ , your sister,” he adds, as he cringes.

“ _What_?”

“That’s what drove me over the edge.  She’s a teenager.  Plus, you’re both people, not possessions,” he responds, as he shakes his head in disgust. 

“He was just going to-to _give_ us to you to do with as you wished?” she questions in horror.

Cautiously, he nods. 

“And you said?”

“I rejected his offer.  Contrary to what you suppose, I’m not a monster either.”

“I never said you were,” she replies matter-of-factly, before she turns to gaze at the ocean once more.

They hear footsteps on the staircase behind them.  He turns to see Sir Connor quickly descending the stairs with an expression of panic on his face.  Lucy does not turn around. 

“Your Grace, we received a raven from The Shoals and a messenger arrived from…”

He nods in acknowledgment and Sir Connor ascends the stairs back towards the castle.  He slowly turns to walk away, but stops and glances back at Lucy.

“Oh, I meant to tell you.  Congratulations on your betrothal.  You’ve finally managed to do something regal,” she teases, as she turns around to face him.

“What’s that?” he asks with a slight chuckle.

“You’ve agreed to marry someone you detest.  Welcome to the club.”

He laughs in response, bows to bid her goodnight and ascends the stairs.

Flynn enters the war room, where Sir Connor and Rufus await him. 

“So, what news from The Shoals?”

“Karl reports that most of House Logan’s men have finally decided to show up to the fight.  However, Sir Wyatt is not with them.  Karl received word that Lady Logan was kidnapped and Wyatt is busy tracking down leads.  Karl also reports that many of the commoners from the city and surrounding countryside are joining our ranks.  He feels the tide of the war is turning in our favor considerably.”

“And, the other news?”

“Another raven arrived from Shadowspear with a scroll for Jiya.  It’s from Anthony.  Also, a messenger brought this ‘gift’ for you, and a scroll addressed to Lady Lucy from Rittenfell.”

“A gift?”

Flynn places his hands on either side of the box and opens it.  He slams it closed as fast as a coiled snake’s strike and draws his fist to his mouth.  He leans over, bracing his elbows on the table, as his face twists with disgust and horror. 

“Which one of them did this?” he screams, as he throws the maps and papers strewn across the table onto the floor.

Sheer rage courses through his veins like a rabid animal.  Anthony has been the one person he could always count on, the one person to bring him back from the brink of his own worst instincts.  House Preston has just murdered his nearest, dearest and oldest friend.  To add insult to injury, they separated his skull from the remainder of his bones.  Anthony was a firm and pious believer in the old gods and magic.  To be buried with one’s skeleton not intact is a great dishonor; a dishonor he will make sure to avenge. 

“And, the scroll?  What does it say?” he growls.

“Your Grace, it is a sealed scroll for Lady Preston,” Sir Connor replies.

“What does it say?” he yells loudly.

“Nothing good, if you’re Lucy.  You, on the other hand, have less enemies than you had yesterday.”

“Fewer,” Rufus interjects.

Sir Connor gives him a death stare and Rufus rolls his eyes in response.

The prince breaks the seal, unfurls the scroll and reads it. 

“Her mother and sister have been murdered by her aunt and uncle at their wedding.”

He pauses for a moment, then looks back up at Rufus and Sir Connor.

“Who murders people at a wedding?” Rufus questions aloud.

“Heinous, vile humans, that’s who,” Sir Connor answers.

“We need to verify this.  I am not taking Lady Whitmore’s word on something this important.  In the meantime, no one breathes a word of this to Lucy!”

Rufus and Sir Connor nod in affirmation.  Unfortunately, their conversation has been overheard by a few of the soldiers and servants.  He glances over at Sir Connor and communicates his concern without having uttered a word. 

“Yes, well, we can’t allow ridiculous rumors to spread, can we Your Grace?”

“What did Anthony have to say to Jiya?” he questions, more of an afterthought than anything else.

“I don’t know.  The servant took it directly to her.  It was marked with the healer’s red cross.  You’ll have to ask her, Your Grace.”

Flynn tries to make a mental note of this, yet he is so aggrieved right now, he’s not sure if he can handle hearing what were essentially Anthony’s last words.

When Lucy wakes the next morning, she feels slightly better than she has in a while.  Still dressing in a black gown, (this one slightly more elaborate that the prior ones), she exits her chamber to the sounds of a busy household.  At first, nothing seems out of the ordinary.  She eats her breakfast in the kitchen with the rest of the household staff, like she normally does when her attendance is not required for formal events.  The staff are eternally grateful for Lucy’s assistance during the siege, and for even considering saving their lives.  Lucy does not see noble, royal or common people, she just sees people.  The older women who work in the kitchens have especially taken a liking to her and inform her of all the latest gossip of the castle.  Today, is no exception. 

“Troop movement, my lady.”

Troop movements do not concern her, so she pays them no mind.  After breakfast, she takes a stroll along the beach.  As she ascends the stairs that lead back to the castle, she’s approached by Lady Jeniah.  Lucy plasters a fake smile, as she looks up at her. 

“Oh, I didn’t expect to see you out and about, Lady Preston.”

Lucy raises her eyebrow in confusion and is about to ask her what she means by that, when Lady Jeniah elaborates.  “You know, with the murders of your entire family and all.  I figured no one would see you for quite some time, if at all.”

She stares back at her in disbelief, the words unable to register in her brain. 

“Oh, you-you didn’t know.  I’m so sorry.  Garcia received a messenger last night.  I figured he would have told you by now.”

She feels the tears that well up within her.  She has to get out of here.  She doesn’t trust Jeniah, so she needs confirmation from a more trustworthy source before she proceeds to freak out. 

“Thank you for your concern.  Excuse me,” Lucy replies, as she brushes passed her on the stairs and makes her way back to the castle. 

 


	17. The Precipice of Peril

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy’s worst nightmare comes true. Amy and Silas have a run-in with the locals. Wyatt encounters an acquaintance from years past. Flynn searches for a missing Lucy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the TRIGGER warnings below for this chapter!
> 
> Trigger warning for attempted suicide.
> 
> Trigger warning for rape. Nothing happens, but the character is afraid it will. I don't like to use rape as a plot point, but I do want my characters to have realistic reactions to situations. I feel as if this would be any woman's reaction/fear to this given situation. Again, NOTHING HAPPENS, but the scenario may trigger some people, so I thought I'd give a warning.

**_Hardstone_ **

Lucy ascends the stairs as fast as she can without being too obvious.  She marches passed the dining room towards the great hall with a purpose.  She will just go and demand answers from the prince.  _Let someone try to stop her._   She turns the corner and runs smack into Rufus, with Jiya off to his side.  Rufus places his hand on her shoulders and steadies her. 

“Whoa, where’s the fire?”

“I need to speak to the prince.  I need to know if what I’ve heard about my family is true or not.”

The look on Rufus’ face tells her everything she needs to know.  Try as he might, he cannot hide the sorrow he feels for her.  Her legs weaken, her breath stutters and tears pool in her eyes.  She spins on her heels and runs down the corridor.

“Lucy!” Rufus calls after her.

Jiya places her hand on his shoulder.

“Just let her go.  She needs to process this on her own.”

She runs and runs down the corridors of the castle, and eventually makes her way down to the stables.  She feels like the ground is about to swallow her whole.  She has to get away from everyone.  She doesn’t even bother to check if the saddle is properly fastened before she climbs on and rides like the wind.

The wind whips at her face as she gallops away from the castle.  The tears pour out of her like a raging river.  The world is caving in around her and she finds it hard to breathe.  She rides further and allows her horse to carve his own path.  The horse leads her towards Stoneytown, the closest village on the island.  Panic swells in her as they inch ever closer.  She knows many of these villagers and just cannot bear to face them right now.  She kicks her horse and urges him to go faster, and almost runs over a poor unsuspecting villager along the way. 

She grips the reins harder now and concentrates on a place she can be alone.  She winds up near the high cliffs at the small waterfall that separates the village from the next one over.  Once she had permission to explore the island, she found this little hidden gem and has taken solace there many a day. 

She dismounts and ties her horse to a nearby tree.  She sits at the edge of the plunge pool at the base of the waterfall and breaks.  She sobs so heavily that her body shakes uncontrollably.  Her mother and she have always had a contentious relationship.  Lucy has never felt adequate enough because of her, but she’s still her mother.  Amy: her baby sister.  She must have been terrified. 

She’s innocent and didn’t deserve any of this.  The sins of her parents return to haunt the both of them. 

Now, she is the last Preston.  Sure, her traitorous uncle is still alive, but she’s the only member of her immediate family that still draws breath.  Had she not been a hostage, she’d be dead too.  A hurricane of horror has blown into her world.  Rage and anger, grief and sadness; she feels them all.  She’s alone.  She knows there will never be peace beyond the rage of losing her family.  She’s witnessed it in the prince more times that she’s sure he would admit.  No peace, just heartbreak and sadness.  This is her future now.

She rises to her knees, tilts her head towards the sky, and with outstretched arms prays to the gods for the strength to carry on. A few moments later, the gods respond, as the skies draw darker by the second and a blustering breeze rolls in.  The heavens rip open, and the rain falls down and pelts her with ferocity. Lightning crackles across the slate sky, like the forked-tongue of a serpent as it strikes its prey. Rumbles of thunder echo in the electrically charged air and shake the ground with a merciless violence. Her horse rears and pulls on the reins.  Lightning strikes the ground not far from her, and the horse pulls on the reins again, this time hard enough to free himself from the tree.  He bolts into the black of night in a flash of shadow. 

Grief and sadness win out over rage and anger. She collapses into a heap along the cold, wet ground.  Lucy’s soul shatters as if it’s been constructed with glass.  Her family was the last shred of her old life, and she clings to them for comfort, even though they’re physically apart.  Now, the knowledge that they’re gone forever claws at her chest, with a feeling that redefines pain.  She knows her aunt and uncle will never stop hunting her.  She knows that no matter what promises or reassurances she may receive to keep her safe, it will all be in vain.  They’ll get to her.  Her aunt will make her suffer especially.  The rain continues to pound down upon her.  She feels the cold and damp as it seeps into her bones.  She doesn’t have the energy or the will to continue to fight.

**_Somewhere in the woods of The Glen_ **

Amy is freezing, exhausted and quite frankly, tired of running.  Had she known she’d have to trek through the elements, she would have worn a dress made of fur and boots instead of shoes.  Definitely, some fur-lined boots.  Silas and she happen upon an abandoned cottage/hunting cabin on their path south.  He gathers wood, starts a fire and quickly scouts the area for any signs of food.  She’s scared, but not as scared as she should have been.  She has no idea where to go, who to trust or what to do.  She trusts Silas, even if she hasn’t known him for very long.  There’s also the fact that he has gotten her this far.  He has nothing to gain by helping her escape, and everything to lose.  It reminds her of her sister.  Lucy likes to help people, even if it’s contrary to her own interests. 

They won’t be able to stop for long, as they need to make their way out of The Glen as fast as possible.  She has no doubt her aunt and uncle will hunt her to the ends of the continent if they can.  Silas returns a short time later and hands her a bunch of wild berries he found.

“Sorry, all I could find for food are these berries.”

“You can’t eat them!” Amy shrieks, “They’re poisonous!”

Silas drops the berries at his feet. 

“Did you eat them?” she asks hesitantly.

_Please, please tell me no.  I need you._  

“No, thank the gods.”

She breathes out a heavy sigh, and her body relaxes slightly at the knowledge he will be alright.  She sits as close as she can to the fire, as she rubs her arms in a vain attempt to stay warm.  Silas notices that she’s shivering, and removes his cloak and wraps it around her.  Instantly, she feels warmer.  Silas wraps his arms around her, and they huddle together in the amber glow of the fire.  Her eyelids droop with sleepiness and she finds herself giving in to her exhaustion. 

“Run, Amy, run!” Silas screams.

She shoots awake and tries to focus her eyes on her surroundings. 

“Amy!”

Silas’ screams are pleas of desperation.  She rubs her eyes and sees Silas being held by two men, while a third pounds his fists upon his face.  A fourth man moves towards her with a menacing scowl written across his face.  She shrieks and shuffles her feet, as she tries to get up.  She falls to her knees and quickly scurries forward, before she finally makes it back to her feet.  She sprints towards the door and flings it open.  She looks back at Silas one last time as she exits.  Slam.  Amy’s body catapults backwards and she lands with a hard thud on her backside.  She feels like she just walked into a stone wall.  Slightly dazed and confused, she gazes up to find a fifth man hovering over her.  _Shit.  He’s going to rape her, or kill her, or both.  Fuck._

She uses both her hands and legs and scoots backwards, as he closes the gap between them repeatedly.  When Amy hits the log that she and Silas sat upon that night, she knows she’s trapped.  Able to go no further, tears form in her eyes.

“Blessed mother, please protect me,” she mumbles. 

Two other men enter the cabin behind the fifth, swords already drawn.  The two men who are holding Silas drop him to the ground like a sack of potatoes, and draw their weapons in return.  The man who was beating Silas also draws his sword, and then turns around to face the fifth man and his companions.  The fifth man is the only one among them who has not drawn his weapon.  He stands there, hands at his side, with an air of arrogance Amy has never witnessed in her life.  The tension in the air is thick and dense, and they all stand frozen in place for a few moments. 

Suddenly, they hear the sound of howling wolves.  They’re close.  The fifth man uses their hesitation, pulls a dagger from his belt, and hurls it at man number four.  He draws his sword immediately thereafter and charges ahead.  The dagger lodges in the man’s throat, and he drops his blade as he clasps his throat with both hands.  Blood spurts from his throat and mouth like a fountain, before he gasps one final time and slumps to the floor.  Amy scrambles back towards the door to avoid being struck.  Silas lays on the ground as he gasps for air, face bloody and twisted.  She wants to go to him, to help him, but she’s trapped in a corner with no way out.  The fifth man and his companions dispatch the other three with relative ease, and then he turns back to a terrified Amy crouching in the corner.  He retrieves his dagger from the man’s throat, wipes the blood on his pant leg, and then sheathes the blade.  He does the same thing with his sword, except he wipes it on the dead man’s leg.  Amy shakes uncontrollably, as she tries to climb into the stone walls to escape.  The man holds out his hand and she shudders in response.

“It’s alright.  You’re safe now, my lady.”

Amy squints at the man’s breastplate.  She can’t make out the sigil at first, so she leans slightly closer to get a better look.  She’s even more confused when she spies the embossed sword and shield.  _She should’ve paid more attention to house sigils like Lucy._   He grabs her hand and pulls her up towards him.  He smiles and her fear subsides, until she remembers Silas. 

“Silas!”

She rushes to his side and holds his head in her hands.  It’s too late.  He’s gone.  She feels a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry for your loss, my lady.”

She can no longer hold back her tears.  She sobs over his body for a little while, and then feels an arm lift her back to her feet.

“My lady, what are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere with only one guard?”

She hesitates to answer and he must sense her reluctance. 

“My lady, I’m an anointed knight.  I don’t hurt women.  You can trust me,” he pleads.

“There was an attack and we barely escaped with our lives.”

He looks at her again, almost as if he’s studying her.  She gazes back at him with a similar expression.  _Why does he look familiar?_

“What’s your name, my lady?”

“Amy.  And yours?”

“Sir Wyatt Logan, at your service, my lady,” he answers as he bows.

**_Hardstone_ **

As Flynn enters the formal dining room, the table’s occupants rise to their feet.  He takes his place at the head of the table and sits down.  Everyone else follows suit.  When he looks up, he sees Lady Jeniah is sitting opposite him at the other end.  Sir Connor flanks him to his right and Rufus to his left.  Jiya sits next to Sir Connor and Kevin is next to Rufus.  Then he notices the empty chair.  The chair Lucy should be in.  He doesn’t blame her.  He’d have skipped dinner too, if he could have.  He ruminates over what he’s going to do, since his future wife loathes Lucy with every fiber of her being, and he-he can’t get enough of her. 

The food is being served when another servant enters the dining room and approaches Jiya.  He bends down and whispers something into her ear.  Jiya’s eyes grow wide, and she pushes her chair back from the table with force as she stands.  The chair makes a loud squeaking as it scuffs and scrapes against the tile floor.  Flynn raises an eyebrow, but stays silent. 

“Everything alright, my lady?” Sir Connor questions.

Jiya throws her napkin down on the table. 

“I’m going to find Lucy.”

She turns towards the door and Rufus springs from his seat.

“Ji-Lady Marri, you can’t go out there by yourself!  It’s too dangerous.”

_Out there.  Lucy_.  It takes his brain longer than usual to put these two thoughts together.  Once he does, panic spreads through his body faster than the deadliest poison.  Rufus questions the servant if he’s sure that Lucy has not returned to the castle. 

“No, my lord.  Lady Preston has not returned.”

“Back, _from where?”_ Flynn growls.

“She went for a ride, Your Grace.  Seemed pretty upset,” the servant replies, as he looks at his feet. 

He _knows_ the second he glances over at Jiya.  Her facial expression betrays her.  Lucy _knows._  

“She knows, doesn’t she?” he states out loud to no one in particular.

“Knows what?” Lady Jeniah questions.

Jiya quickly turns and stares daggers at her.

“Well, don’t just stand there!  Go find her!” he yells at his guards with a wave of his hand.

He sits back down, rests his elbow on the table and places his palm to his head.  The storm rages outside and he worries that Lucy is hurt.  He knows she will be upset, but he didn’t think she’d just disappear.  He understands better than most that everyone deals with their grief in different ways.  He also knows better than most exactly what she’s going through, what it’s like to have your entire world taken from you.  The longer he thinks about it, the more worried he grows.

A while later the guard reappears, and finds the prince and the others in the great hall. 

“We cannot find her, Your Grace.  We’ve looked everywhere.  We did find her horse though.  He was making his way back to the castle on his own.”

He can’t exactly say what the expression on his face looks like, but by the reactions they give, it must have been something between “are you fucking kidding me” and “what the fuck, do I have to do everything myself?”  He rises to his feet and proceeds to walk towards the door of the great hall.

“Your Grace, what are you doing?” Sir Connor questions, as he also rises from his seat.

He stops, sighs heavily and turns back to Sir Connor.

“Finding Lucy.”

**_Somewhere in the woods of The Glen_ **

The last thing he needs right now is to babysit the teenaged daughter of a wealthy lord.  He _needs_ to find Jessica.  But, he isn’t heartless.  Amy is clearly in danger and he can’t bring himself to just abandon her, nor can he spare the men to escort her to wherever her home is. 

As he thinks about what to do with her, he has his men remove the bodies from the cabin and tend to the fire.  He gives his cloak to Amy, who is still shivering even though she’s two feet from the fire. 

“What brings you out in the middle of nowhere, my lady?”

“I-I attended a wedding at Rittenfell.  And then everyone was screaming and killing each other, so I ran.  It was so horrible!” she cries.

“ _What?_ ”

“It’s chaos.  Silas told me the soldiers were fighting each other and the great hall is covered in bl-blood.”

_Oh, gods no.  Jessica_. 

“Did you happen to see a woman there a little younger than me with blonde hair?” he asks with desperation.

Amy looks back at him with an expression that’s half-puzzled and half-weary.

“You’ll have to be more specific than that.  There were a lot of people there.”

“Her name is Jessica Logan.  Or, she could go by her maiden name, Jessica Bruhl.  She’s my wife and she was taken.”

He notes Amy’s nervousness.  Something about her story just isn’t adding up.  He can’t put his finger on it, but there’s definitely something there.  She also looks vaguely familiar to him.  He’s pretty sure he doesn’t know her, but she reminds him of someone. 

“I’m so sorry about your wife.  I hope you find her.”

The way she speaks convinces him she isn’t being honest.  So, he decides to try a different tactic. 

“What house are you from, Amy?”

She pauses, only slightly, but he notices.

“House Humiston.”

“Ah.  Has the fall foliage come in yet?  I hear Ravengrove is quite colorful.”

“Some have.”

“Interesting, considering House Humiston’s seat is Holmesgate.”

She’s caught red-handed.

“Who are you really?”

She swallows hard and trembles slightly as she responds, “Amy of House Preston.”

“Wait, you’re…”

He shakes his head in disbelief.  _Has it really been that long since he’s been to Rittenfell?_   There is no way that the teenaged girl who stands before him is the same little girl he met all those years ago.  It’s a night he will remember for a long time, but one he hasn’t thought about in a while.  He had been recently knighted, and had been invited to attend a ball at Rittenfell that Lord Preston had thrown in honor of King Asher.  He had been introduced to Lord Preston’s two daughters.  Lucy, the eldest, was a little younger than him, but not by much, and the other daughter was a child of maybe eight-years old. 

“We met, you know.  A long time ago.  You were only a little girl.”

Her eyes grow wide and recognition washes over her like a wave.

“The ball for the king.  You-you danced with my sister for most of the night.”

It’s the reason he has fond memories of that evening.  Lucy was beautiful, and many young men wanted to dance with her, but she danced with him the most.  He felt important and had a sense of belonging that night. 

“My lady, I’m begging you.  Do you know what happened to my wife?  I don’t care what side of some stupid war your family is on.  I’m asking that little girl I met all those years ago if she will help me,” he pleads.

“I only overheard Emma say that she took her in the village of Preston.  I don’t know what happened after that.  I swear, that’s all I know.”

He believes her.  For whatever reason, he feels she’s being honest with him _finally._  

“Preston?  That’s west of here.  Not that far at all.  We ride at first light,” he instructs.

“We?  I’m going with you?”

“I can’t just leave you here.  It’s not safe.  I will get you somewhere safe, my lady, I promise.”

**_Hardstone_ **

The ground and trees rush by him, as he rides through the driving rain and wind, with that same air of panic he felt the day his world came crashing down around him.  He hadn’t been able to save his family, but Lucy will _not_ meet their fate.  Not if he can help it.  He remembers vividly what those first few days of grief felt like.  It consumed him like a starved, carnivorous beast and had remained so for years.  But, he hadn’t been completely alone.  He still had his mother.  _She_ was the one who brought him back from the black abyss of despair and grief.  He can do that for Lucy.  He can be her light in the ebony-stained darkness.  He just has to find her first. 

He rides his horse hard towards the village.  He checks there first, in the hopes she’s taken shelter from the storm.  Most of the villagers are indoors, and he’s about to dismount at the tavern, when a man exits and recognizes him.  He inquires about Lucy, and the man replies that he saw her earlier in the afternoon, but not since.

He rides on, the rain pelting him, as he can barely see a few feet in front of him.  The storm grows in intensity, as he pushes on towards the waterfall.  Lightning strikes the ground a few yards ahead, which causes his horse to rear in fear.  He holds on and rights the horse, as he rounds the bend towards the waterfall.  A whip of lightning cracks the sky, which illuminates enough of the terrain for him to glimpse a dark figure in the distance.  Otherwise, he might have just rode right by her.  Another flash of light dances across the heavens and his heart drops.  There she stands on the precipice of peril, darkness draping her.

The fear is paralyzing, as she inches closer and closer to the cliff’s edge.  He might have literally jumped off his horse, as he advances upon her position.  It all happens so fast, that he quite honestly doesn’t recall.  He remembers frantically screaming her name, to which he receives no response.  Tears stream down his face, as he bellows out her name for a second time. 

He’s almost reached her, when she turns, mouths “goodbye” and falls forward.  He scrambles to the cliff’s edge and manages to grab her leg.  She hangs upside down, his grip slipping on her slick skin.  She’s squirming and flailing her arms and free leg, as she yells and pleads for him to just let her go.  _Not a chance in all seven hells_.  He will _not_ lose another woman he loves.  Not again.  Not when she’s literally in the palm of his hand.  And, love her he does.  He loves her more than his own life, more than _anything._   Unlike her betrothed, he’d give up his crown for her.  He manages to capture her other leg and pulls with all his might.  Lucy clutches a rock on the cliff wall, as she tries to fight him. 

“Damn it, Lucy!  Stop fighting me!  I will _not_ let you go.”

He sits down and uses his long legs as leverage to pry her free.  Through sheer will and determination, he hoists her to safety.  She collapses on top of him, and he immediately wraps his arms around her tightly.  She kicks and punches him in an effort to wrangle free of his grasp.  _He will not let her go, ever._   Eventually, she stops fighting him and slumps into his embrace. 

“Just let me end this misery,” she cries, as her fists clench and she grips his tunic.

He gathers her tighter to his chest and whispers into her ear, “Never.”

She sobs harder and buries her head into his neck.  He rocks her gently, as the storm continues to rage all around them.  She melts into his caress for a few moments, before she lifts her head and meets his eyes.

“Please?” she pleads.  “If you can’t find it in your heart to let me end my suffering, then do it for yourself.  You’ll have one fewer enemy to deal with and no blood on your hands.”

He’s speechless.  Normally, he would just assume this is just her being difficult again, but the lifeless look she has in her eyes tells him she’s dead serious.  _How can she think this is what she is to him?  After all they’ve been through, she truly believes he’s that cruel?_  

With one arm still firmly around her, he brings the other up to cup her chin.

“Lucy, you are not my enemy.  If you are so determined to propel yourself into an early, watery grave, then by all means, don’t let me stop you.”

_He’s lying and he knows it_. _He’ll never let her out of his sight again._   Cautiously, he brings his other hand up to her cheek.

“However, I hope you’ll hear me out before you do.  I have some news that may impact heavily on your decision.”

She breathes laboriously as she waits for him to continue.

“Your sister... she’s just missing.  My spies have been unable to confirm her demise.  In fact, I have evidence to the contrary that they are still actively searching for her.  You haven’t lost everything.  There’s still hope.”

“Hope.”

It’s the only word she utters, as she stares back at him.

“Hope,” she repeats again.

“Hope,” he echoes.

She buries her face into his neck again, and he wraps his arms back around her.  He knows they need to get out of this storm, but for right now, he just wants to hold her and never let her go.

 


	18. Kisses Are Kindling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma gives Jessica an ultimatum. Flynn and Lucy seek shelter from the storm. Wyatt and Amy arrive in Preston. Lucy comes to a realization.

**_Rittenfell_ **

It takes some convincing to get King Noah back on her side, but Emma manages to do so.  She also finagles the king into naming her husband as his new Hand.  Not that he has much choice.  His allies are dwindling at a rapid pace.  Plus, he’s still at war.  A war that he is losing.  The king orders his men to prepare for his journey back to the capital.  Nicholas will accompany him, but Emma will remain at Rittenfell, as she translates the spell to release the frozen beast in the north. 

Emma commands that Jessica be brought to her chambers, as the others begin their preparations for departure. 

“Lady Logan, my lady,” the servant announces, as they practically shove Jessica into the room.

“Jessica dear.  I assume that you’re still interested in becoming queen?”

Jessica nods hesitantly.

“Good.  You will accompany my husband and the king back to the capital.  You will work your charms on the king and seduce him,” Emma explains.

“But, I’m married.”

“No need to fret about that idiot husband of yours.  He’ll be dead soon.”

“What if I can’t seduce him?  You _know_ he has an infatuation with Lady Preston.”

“Then your brother will meet the same fate as your father.  Understood?”

Jessica stands there in shock.

“Understood?” Emma repeats.

“Yes.”

“Good.  You leave at first light.”

Jessica turns to leave the chamber when Emma stops her.

“Oh, one more thing.  When the king asks you about Lady Preston, you need to convince him that he _cannot_ marry a ruined woman.”

“What?  But, I don’t know Lady Preston.  I’ve never heard anything untoward about her either.”

“First of all, _I’m_ Lady Preston, not Lucy.  Secondly, it doesn’t matter what you’ve heard or what you know.  I’m telling you what to tell him.  You tell him you heard rumors at Shadowspear that Prince Garcia forced Lucy into his bed on _multiple_ occasions.”

Jessica glares back at her in horror.

“Remember your brother.  Aevin, isn’t it?”

“Fine.  I’ll tell him.”

“Be sure to be convincing, won’t you?  I had to think longer than a few minutes to come up with that one,” Emma states with a smirk, as she pats Jessica on the shoulder and walks out of the room.

**_Isle of Burgundy_ **

Flynn needs to find shelter from the storm.  Stoneytown is the closest village, so it will have to do.  Carefully, he lifts Lucy up onto the saddle and quickly mounts the horse.  He holds her tightly around her waist with his left arm, while he uses the right to control the reins.  The situation is less than ideal, but he’s petrified she’ll fall right off if he lets go of her.  The wind drives the rain directly into his line of sight, which means he has to be more cautious.

He urges the horse onward with dogged determination and comes upon the village a short time later.  Stoneytown is a small village that consists of many of the homes of the castle servants, along with the requisite butcher, baker and candlestick maker.  The town is dotted with timber framed buildings, each with pitched roofs made of thatch.  A fountain delineates the village center and a small inn with stables sits to its left.  Flynn heads for the inn and stops his horse right in front of the entrance.  A man exiting the establishment recognizes him, runs back inside and then reemerges with another three men to assist.  _Like he’ll let any of them touch her.  Not a chance.  A thousand men or more wouldn’t be able to separate him from her right now_.  The first man turns out to be the innkeeper and he bids the prince and Lucy welcome.  The innkeeper sprints out into the storm and grabs the reins to the horse as Flynn dismounts.  He reaches up to help Lucy and she practically slides off and into his arms.  He carries her into the inn, and the innkeeper’s wife ushers them towards the warmth of the fire.  Flynn gently places Lucy into one of the chairs, and then turns to find the innkeeper and his wife right behind him.  After the usual bow and curtsy, they ask what they can do for him.  He informs them he will require a room for the evening, as well as hot meals and dry clothing for both he and Lucy. 

“Of course, Your Grace.  Anything for you…and Lady Lucy,” the woman states.

“You know her?”

“Of course, Your Grace.  Lady Lucy teaches the townsfolk how to read and write, my self included.”

The innkeeper’s wife disappears upstairs for a few minutes, (no doubt ensuring the room is tidy), before returning and directing them to their room.  The room is small, yet clean and cozy.  At one end is a large canopy bed, with a washboard and basin on a table next to it.  The other end has a small fireplace and two sitting chairs with a small, round table between them.  The innkeeper’s wife apologizes for the meager accommodations, but the prince assures her that it’s perfectly acceptable.  _He’s slept in worse places than this as a mercenary._ The woman exits the room, which leaves him alone with Lucy.  She shivers and shudders with every jagged breath she exhales.  He wants to take her in his arms and take on her pain himself.  Lucy is beyond broken right now, a shell of her glorious self, the light dimming into darkness.  Like him, she too will eventually claw and scratch her way out of the grief.  But, it will take time. 

There is a knock on the door, and he opens it to find the innkeeper standing there with a pile of clothes.  He apologizes that the garments are not of a quality worthy of a king or a lady.  Flynn again stresses to him there’s nothing to apologize for.  His wife appears a few moments after that, two bowls of soup, bread and a jug of ale in her arms.  He asks the woman if she will help Lucy change out of her wet clothes.  Lucy bristles at the woman’s touch and Flynn dismisses the woman before he shuts the door.  He glides over to where Lucy stands, places his hands on her shoulders and turns her around to face him.  She looks in his direction, more through him than at him though.  Slowly, he unlocks the clasp of the cape at her neck and lets it fall to the floor.  Lucy has no reaction whatsoever.  She’s blank, numb.  It isn’t intimate or sexual in any way to him, yet he feels inappropriate about removing Lucy’s wet clothing.  _Someone has to, and he tried to get a woman to help her since she is in no shape to do it herself._   The dress that the innkeeper provided is made of wool, so at the very least, Lucy should be warm enough in it.  He tries not to gaze at her naked body when he undoes the tie to her black wrap dress.  He’d be a complete liar if he said his eyes never wandered over her beautiful body.  _She’s perfection in human form, from head to toe, inside and out._   He quickly throws the new, gray dress over her head and pulls it down.  Thankfully, Lucy seems to be a bit more cooperative this time, and pulls her own arms through. 

He goes over to the bed, pulls down the furs and gently guides Lucy backwards until she sits down.  He swings her legs up and onto the bed and then repositions the furs over her.  Without even a thought to the consequences, he leans down and kisses her forehead softly.  She peers back at him with a semblance of recognition of his presence, the flicker of an ember of her dying light that is stubbornly refusing to go out.  If his kisses are kindling, he’ll make sure that ember grows into a raging inferno.  She curls her body into a ball and turns on her side, facing away from him. 

He takes the opportunity to change out of his own wet clothes.  The black trousers are a little short, but he doesn’t care.  He’ll walk back to the castle naked if he has to.  But, he doesn’t want to scandalize Lucy, so he pulls on the black shirt as well.  She still shivers uncontrollably and has begun to mumble incoherent utterances, as she rocks back and forth in the bed.  He hesitates slightly, and as he moves toward the bed the floorboard creaks beneath him and betrays his position.  Lucy turns back to face him.  The look on her face shatters his heart into a million pieces.  He recognizes it.  He has witnessed it in himself firsthand.  He sits down on the bed, breathes out a heavy sigh and turns to face her.

“Lucy.  Lucy, you need to eat.  The soup will help warm you up.”

Her breathing is slow and shallow, and she seems confused as to where she is or what’s happening to her.  As she tries to sit up, she falls forward clumsily onto the bed, almost knocking him over.  Instinctively, he reaches for her and helps her sit on the edge of the bed next to him.  She glances over at him and extends her hand towards him, as if she’s trying to ascertain if he is a specter of her subconscious or not.  He takes her hand in his, smoothing soft circles with his thumb.

“Am I dead?” Lucy asks.

“What?”

“This is the first of the seven hells, isn’t it?”

“No, Lucy,” he replies, as he shakes his head. “You’re very much alive.  We’re in an inn in Stoneytown.”

She still seems to be confused, but she nods her head in response.  _She thought she was in hell because she was with him.  She still hates him._

“Come, you need to eat,” he states, as he stands and pulls her with him.

He gently guides her to the chair in front of the fire and places the bowl of soup on the table next to her.  After a few moments, she slurps up some soup from her spoon.  He isn’t sure it’s even registering in her brain what she’s doing, but he’s happy she is at least eating.  He downs a few spoonfuls of the soup himself, then helps Lucy back to the bed.  She is obviously still in shock and he can do nothing to comfort her.  It’s killing him.  Over and over, the blade is being buried in his back. 

She crawls into the bed on her own this time, slides over to the middle and resumes the fetal position.  His arms ache to hold her close, but he has no idea how she’ll react to that.  The last thing he wants to do is spook her even more.  Yet, to his surprise, she stretches out her hand towards him with the desperation of a dying woman. 

“Please?”

_Say no more_.  He takes her outstretched hand and she pulls him closer to her.  Taking the hint, he climbs into the bed and turns to face her.  She throws her arms around him and squeezes him so tight, it’s hard to breathe initially.  He jostles her in his arms, adjusting her position ever so slightly, until it is comfortable for him.  Tears stream down her face at a fast and furious pace, and he rocks her gently in his arms and presses soft kisses to her forehead. 

“It’ll be okay, Lucy.  You _will_ get through this.  You’re strong enough to get through this.”

She gazes up at him, eyes red and watery and shakes her head.

“I can’t.  I can’t…”

“You _can_ and you _will_.  You’re not alone, Lucy.  You have Jiya and Denise, Rufus and Kevin.  Hell, you even have Sir Connor in your corner.  And, you have me.”

_You’ll always have me_. 

He holds her in his arms for hours, before she finally dozes off; that is, until the door bursts open in the middle of the night.  Four of his own soldiers enter with swords drawn.  At the sound of the door opening, he pulls his blade from under his pillow out of pure instinct.  Lucy shrieks in terror as she wakes. 

“What the hell!” he barks.

“Your Grace, you’re alright,” one soldier replies.

“Of course I am!  Now, get the hell out!”

The men cower and do as they’re told.

Lucy grips him tightly, her lungs poisoned by panic, as she shakes frantically. 

“I’m here.  You’re safe,” he whispers into her ear.

He repeats the phrase over and over, until her breathing slows and she buries her head into his neck.  Eventually, Lucy falls back asleep, most likely from sheer exhaustion.  He dares not venture into dreamland again, but instead watches her as she sleeps.  He continues to caress her back with one hand, while the other gently pets her hair.  Needless to say, it’s a _long_ night.

**_Village of Preston, The Glen_ **

Wyatt indicates for Amy and his men to stop, as they approach the outskirts of Preston. 

“Why are we stopping?” Amy questions.

“We can’t just ride into town, my lady.  First off, you’re being hunted.  Secondly, we’re soldiers of their liege lord’s enemy.  You’re going to stay here while a few of us sneak into town.”

“Oh,” Amy responds.

“Stay out of sight,” Wyatt instructs his men.

Wyatt removes the gorget embossed with his house sigil from his neck. He informs his men to remove anything that will identify them as well.  Only three of them go into town, as the rest of them stay far out of sight.  Wyatt needs to stay focused on his mission, but he also feels a twinge of responsibility when it comes to Lady Amy.  If she’s safe, it will make his quest easier.  So, he sends his other men to ask around about Jessica, while he frequents the local tailor’s shop. 

As he exits the shop a short while later, his men approach him and apprize him of what they have found.  Apparently, Jessica has been seen by some of the locals, but she left with House Preston men shortly before the execution. 

“What execution?” Wyatt asks.

“Lord Bruhl.  He was beheaded by Lord Preston,” his man advises.

“Show me where,” he growls.

The men lead him to the town center and point to the remnants of bone and ash piled in a corner.  Wyatt stares and shakes his head.  He knows what it means, but he doesn’t know the entire story.  His soldier then advises him that they sent Lord Bruhl’s head to Hardstone.  Now, he’s _really_ angry.  They desecrated Anthony’s body in every way.  Wyatt has never believed in the old gods, but he knows Anthony did.  According to their customs and legends, Anthony will never enter the afterlife, doomed to drift through time in some non-corporeal form.  He vows to kill them all, once he safely pries his wife from their clutches. 

Satisfied that there’s nothing further to be gained from lingering in town, he and his men make their way back to the others.  Wyatt dismounts his horse, walks towards Lady Amy and throws a bundle of cloth at her. 

“Here.  Put those on.”

“These are men’s clothes!” Amy complains.

“Exactly.”

“Do I look like a man to you?”

“Of course not.  But, the men hunting you won’t be searching for a man, will they?”

Amy huffs and then disappears behind a row of bushes to change.  Once she rejoins the group, Wyatt walks over to her and places his hands on her shoulders.

“Trust me and I will get you through this.  It’s very counter-productive for you to continue to fight me.”

Amy lowers her eyes and peers at her feet. 

“I’m sorry.  This is all a little new to me.”

Wyatt stealthily grabs his dagger with his right hand, while his left grabs a chunk of Amy’s long locks.  Chop.  She gasps in horror as he moves over and grabs the other side of her hair and does the same. 

“What the hell!”

“Now you look more like a boy,” he explains, as he sheathes his dagger.

“I hate you.”

“Don’t care.  Get on the horse.  We have a long ride ahead of us.”

Amy rolls her eyes at him and shuffles back to her horse.  This is going to be a long ride indeed.

**_Stoneytown, Isle of Burgundy_ **

As she opens her eyes with the first rays of dawn, Lucy has no recollection of where she is, or how she got there.  The last thing she remembers was jumping off a cliff, how monumentally stupid it had been, and that she has regretted it ever since.  She recalls her legs preventing her from falling to a watery grave, well, more specifically, the person who grabbed her legs prevented it.  She recollects being hoisted up by the prince and then shattering into a thousand shards.  How he managed to salvage any of those pieces, she cannot comprehend.  Broken and splintered, she’s been exposed to the savagery of society.  It has tarnished and blackened her soul and planted its seed of darkness in her.  Yet, for some inexplicably ridiculous reason, she feels whole in his arms, the darkness banished to the bowels of hell where they belong.  He holds her as if she’ll disappear into the night, a misty ghost that toys with the ethereal plane.  If his grasp wasn’t so tight, she may have actually considered the idea that she _was_ a ghost.  She certainly feels as if she has one foot in the grave at this point.  But, the other foot basks in the bright sunlight of the man whose arms she finds herself wrapped up in.  It’s as if his arms are meant for this purpose and this purpose alone in life. 

She remembers one additional detail: Amy.  There is still hope she’s alive and out in the wilderness somewhere.  Out there, all alone.  She has to find her.  But, she’s clueless as to where to begin, how she’ll survive, etc.  Plus, this thing with the prince has thrown her for a loop.  She doesn’t understand why he saved her, nor does she comprehend why it has such a profound effect on her.  It shouldn’t.  _She can’t-she can’t have feelings for him, right?_   _No, she hates him.  Yeah, she hates him.  Definitely.  Okay, so, she did check him out once or twice, but…_

No.  She needs to concentrate on Amy.  Perhaps she can convince him to help find her.  No matter what, Lucy knows she will never stop searching for her.  Never.  She just has to separate herself from the intoxicating warmth of his body pressed against hers.  He is her lighthouse that guides her safely through the storm and into port.

She gazes up at him and the expression of concern on his face both shocks her and makes her feel at ease (if that is somehow possible).  She pushes herself back from him and sits up straight.

“We need to get back to the castle.”

“Lucy-”

“I need to find my sister.”

“I already had Sir Connor send ravens.  I have men searching for her already.  We can see if there’s any word, though.”

Lucy nods in response, as he sits up and drapes his legs over the side of the bed. 

“We’ll leave as soon as you’re ready, my lady.”

Lucy pulls herself out of the bed and shuffles over to the water basin.  She grasps the ewer and pours a fresh bowl of water into the basin before she dips in the cloth.  After she finishes cleaning her face, she puts on her muddy boots once again.  The prince does the same and they make their way downstairs.  The innkeeper and his wife bid them farewell, and the prince helps her into the saddle before he joins her on the horse. 

They ride at a fast, but not excessive pace, and reach the castle in no time at all, now that the weather has cleared up.  They haven’t spoken since they left the inn, yet both of them know the dynamic is shifting and changing in their relationship.  A whirlwind of activity flurries on around her, as they trot into the courtyard.  Her handmaids rush to attend to her and usher her inside quickly.  It happens so fast, she’s remiss in thanking him for saving her life.

Jiya hurries after Lucy down the corridor when Flynn stops her.  He needs to take care of a few things, but he dreads leaving Lucy alone right now.  So, he confides in Jiya about what happened and asks her to watch her like a hawk until he’s able to return later.  Thankfully, she happily agrees. 

He marches up to the war room, Sir Connor and Rufus in tow.

“Prepare the boats.  I’m ending this siege before winter comes and before they kill anyone else we care about.”

“Yes, Your Grace.  How large of a company do you wish to escort you to The Shoals?”

“Escort me?  We’re all going.  Well, all of us except my lovely betrothed.  She stays.”

Rufus and Sir Connor shoot each other worried looks. 

_He absolutely meant it when he said he’d never let Lucy out of his sight again._  

 


	19. Blood and Brawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flynn and company set sail for The Shoals. The siege of King’s Keep comes to a head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who continues to read. I really appreciate it. :-)

**_ Hardstone _ **

Lucy doesn’t have to be told twice to gather her things.  She’s wanted to get off of this island from the moment she washed up here.  The household servants are abuzz, as they frantically pack up the various items of clothing, food and furniture that will accompany them on their journey.  The soldiers busy themselves as well, as they secure the armaments onto the ships. 

Lady Jeniah decides she’s going with them anyway, and the prince acquiesces to her demand eventually.  She is to sail on the main ship of the Scapanine fleet, which will be escorted by two additional ships equipped with Scapanine soldiers.  He allows her to go with them, but refuses to let her sail with him.  Lucy can’t help but laugh when he tells her it would be improper for them to sail together when they aren’t married.  It’s a good excuse and no one will question it in the slightest, even if Lucy’s instincts scream that it’s a total lie. 

Hours later, as Lucy leaves the castle gates, her instinct is confirmed as fact, when she’s informed she will sail with the prince.  Jiya will also travel with them, and Rufus and Sir Connor will command their own ships.  She’s aware that she is never being left alone, constantly in the company of the prince or Jiya.  If his objection to Lady Jeniah travelling with him had truly been one of impropriety, he certainly wouldn’t have insisted Lucy sail with him.  She’s also very aware of how this will appear to everyone else.  She doesn’t care.  Her mind is singularly focused on one thing: Amy.  She’s determined to find her.  Every time doubt creeps back into her mind, she remembers the prince’s words to her, _“You will get through this.  You’re strong enough to get through this.  You’re not alone.  You have me.”  When did that happen?_   _How did that happen?_

As the boat sails out of the harbor, Lucy glances back at the castle.  Strangely enough, she’ll miss this place.  It became her home over the last few months.  She has grown, truly grown as a person here.  And, minus the dungeon incident, she feels welcomed and accepted here.  Unlike when she lived at Rittenfell, no one ever tells her here that she can’t teach the servants or townspeople how to read and write.  The prince knows she’s doing this and never says a word.  Her mother, on the other hand, had threatened to cut her off from everyone and everything when she had found out.  She once even threatened to lock her in her room until she could marry her off. 

The castle grows smaller and smaller until it’s completely out of sight.  When she turns back to the sprawling sea, she notices the prince staring at her from across the deck.  Lucy isn’t sure what their relationship will be in the future, but it has definitely changed.  He’s no longer sneaking fleeting glances at her.  Now, it’s blatant.  Yet, she still is unable to read him.  _Does he just pity her?  Does she remind him of his dead wife?_  

After a few hours, she retires below deck.  She settles into the hammock next to Jiya, as she breathes a loud sigh.

“Do you know where they stored my things?  I can’t seem to find them,” Lucy asks.

“In the cabin.”

“The cabin?  Why would they put my things in there?”

“I don’t know, Lucy.  Maybe the servants got mixed up?”

She huffs, sits up and clamors over towards the cabin door.  She assumes the prince is still above deck, since that’s the last place she saw him, so she doesn’t bother to knock.  She pushes the door open, enters the cabin and scans the room.  Her belongings are stacked neatly next to the bed.  As she strolls towards them, she hears movement from the corner of the cabin.  Startled, she swings around to find the prince.  He cringes as he struggles to change the bandage on his wound.  Lucy wasn’t aware that he had been injured that badly.  He never lets it show, as far as she can tell.  The wound seems to be healing, but slowly.  The wound’s appearance distracts her, as well as the appearance of him shirtless this close to her.  Sure, she eyed him up that one day in the courtyard, but he had purposely been showing off his prowess with weapons along with his sculpted physique. 

“Just come right in.”

“I-I’m sorry.  I was searching for my things and Jiya told me they were in here.  I’ll just be a moment and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Technically, you have no things.  I gave you everything you have here.”

_What a smug asshole!_

“Fine!  Take them back, I don’t care anymore!”

He chuckles, then takes a step towards her. 

“I bought them for you.  I was only teasing.  Your things are right where they’re supposed to be.  You’re staying in here tonight.”

“What?  Why do I have to stay in here, _with you_?”

“You want to sleep out there in a room full of soldiers and sailors unprotected?”

_Oh._

“I didn’t think so.  Thus, the second bed,” he replies, as he points to the other corner of the cabin.

_Oh._

“What about Jiya?”

“Jiya’s fine out there.”

“How-how can you say that?”

“Because those same soldiers and sailors are terrified of her.  I told them if they so much as look at her wrong, she might turn them into something _unnatural.”_

She smiles back at him, unable to help herself.  He turns back around and attempts to reapply the bandage to his wound.

“Would you like some help with that or are you just going to grunt and complain while you fail miserably?” Lucy asks.

He huffs, pulls the bandage back down from his arm and holds it out to her.  She strolls over slowly and takes the bandage from his hand.  She wraps it around his torso, skimming her fingers along his skin in the process.  She feels the shudder that runs down his spine and the electricity that surges through her hands.  She ties off the bandage and presses her hands lightly to his chest when she finishes.  His toned, muscular body is distracting, and she doesn’t notice that she’s left her hands on his chest.  His skin is so warm and inviting, and she unconsciously traces small circular patterns over an old scar.  The pale, jagged mark zigzags from the bottom of his pectoral muscle to his ribs.  It’s slightly raised, but smooth.  Another shiver courses through his body when she traces the trail of the scar.  She relishes the power she feels over him in that moment.  Never in her life has she been able to exert power over someone else.  She has never touched a man like this before, but this _feels_ right.

Her entire life had been planned out for her by her parents.  Yet, the greatest freedom she’s ever experienced has been while she’s been a prisoner of the prince.  She feels alive when she’s with him.  She can be herself when she’s with him.  He doesn’t expect her to act a certain way, well not since their initial meeting when she made it clear she wouldn’t be acting in the prescribed way.  He saved her life, held her when she shattered, and let her know she could count on him.  She lets her imagination run wild for a moment before the realization smacks her upside her head.  _She has feelings for him.  Him!_

Lucy backs up and removes her hands from his chest, as reality sets in.  They’re both engaged to other people.  As much as it feels right, it is wrong.  She should never have done it.  She turns and walks towards the smaller bed and sits down. 

“You should try to get some sleep while you can,” he suggests.

Lucy nods in response, pulls down the furs and climbs into the bed, clothes and all.  She’s exhausted, but she has no idea how she is supposed to sleep with him in the same room.  But, sleep she must.

Lucy screams.  He hears her.  He knows he does.  He plunges down into the darkness headfirst, determined to find her.  He flings the door open to find her dressed in a beautiful, white silk gown, as she stands on the temple altar, a knife to her throat.  There is a priestess who performs a marriage rite on her, and a man who stands with his back to him.  He screams her name, as she struggles under the blade’s edge.  The man at the altar turns around and he freezes.  It’s _him!_   Well, him ten years ago.  He watches in horror, as she screams, “Noah!”  Noah appears out of nowhere and cuts his younger self down in one swift blow.  Lucy is in his enemy’s arms an instant later.  He falls to his knees, as he screams.

He wakes with a startling heave.  He feels someone grabbing his forearm, and he reaches for the blade tucked under his pillow.  His eyes fly open and he moves the blade stealthily to his assailant’s throat.  His eyes finally focus in the moonlit room.  He gasps and withdraws the blade, horrified by what he’s almost done.

“Lucy.  What is it?” he asks.

“You had a nightmare.  You were yelling and screaming.  It woke me up.”

“I-I’m sorry.  Thought I’d gotten past them.”

“Do we ever really?” Lucy deadpans.

“You have nightmares?”

“I used to all the time when I was at home.  It’s why I’m afraid of wolves.  They’ve haunted my dreams for too long.”

“How did you get them to stop?” he asks earnestly.

“They stopped when I came to Hardstone.  I don’t know why.  I guess the new ones replaced the old.”

“New ones?” he asks with concern.

“Mostly of the siege…and the man I murdered,” she whispers.

“I’m sorry, Lucy.  That’s all my fault.  You should never have been put in that position.”

“I don’t have them anymore,” she answers.

“No nightmares at all?  They just stopped, again?”

“No, but when your life is one continuous nightmare, how can you tell the difference?”

She speaks to him in a half-whisper, her voice distant.  The vacant expression on her face is undeniable and it breaks him.  Tears stream down his face, as he stares back at her in bewilderment. 

The next thing he knows, she’s cradling him in her arms.  She obviously climbed into his bed, but everything is hazy.  He can’t tell her what the nightmare was about.  Thankfully, she never asks.  She just holds him, as she runs her fingers through his hair until the tears cease.

It was bound to happen.  He hasn’t cried in a long, long time.  He curls into her touch and soothing whispers.  She didn’t do this because she was ordered, she did it out of the goodness of her own heart.  A heart that’s always been too good for the likes of him.  He relishes her touch and the closeness she allows, yet he can’t shake the nightmare.  _Was it a warning, an omen?_ Jiya prophesized betrayals.  He ignored them before, but one of her other visions came true.  Rufus told him that during the siege, the beach had waves of flames just like her vision.  _Does he endanger Lucy by bringing her here?  Will he lose her to Noah? Is she the one who will betray him?_   The doubt and uncertainty consume him, and he clings to Lucy like she’s the last candle during a long winter’s night.

He must’ve fallen asleep at some point.  He wakes again with the first rays of dawn.  A strange, calming peace sweeps over him, and he allows himself to doze in and out of consciousness for another hour or so. 

The morning sun shines brightly now through the back window of the cabin, and the ship’s crew can be heard above, as they make preparations for landfall.  He feels the sleeping beauty at his side, before he sees her.  She hasn’t left him in the middle of the night, but stayed and held him through his crisis.  His mind drifts back to the first time he ever met her, years ago at Rittenfell.  If only he had known then what he knows about her now, he would’ve pushed harder for that dance that night.  Even as a young teenager, she was stunning.  He vividly remembers that half of the eligible young men at the ball wanted to dance with her.  He also vividly remembers how she only seemed to have eyes for one: Sir Wyatt Logan.  So instead, he danced with the youngest Preston daughter, Amy, who could not have been more than eight years old.  It wouldn’t have mattered anyway, as that was the night his father arranged his marriage to Lorena.

His reverie is interrupted, when one of the soldiers burst through the cabin door and informs him they’ve reached their destination.  Lucy jumps when the door opens and quickly hides her head in embarrassment.  Once the soldier leaves, he gets up and dresses and heads to the top deck.  He can’t look at her, he just can’t.

**_House Flynn Encampment-The Shoals_ **

It takes two days for them to reach the encampment.  As soon as they arrive, the prince, Sir Connor and Rufus head right for the commander’s tent.  Jiya meets up with the healers that service the wounded.  That leaves Lucy to tend to little Kevin.  The encampment is foreign to both of them.  There are women here, some of them healers, some kitchen and laundry staff, and of course, the prostitutes.  Lucy needs to make sure she keeps little Kevin away from them for sure. 

After they wander the camp for a while, Rufus comes and finds them.  He leads Lucy to a tent, and informs her these are her quarters for the night.  _Well, it’s at least better than the dungeon._   A few moments later, Lady Jeniah and her entourage enter the tent.  _Great.  She has to deal with her for a night._  

Sleep is hard to come by and tonight proves to be no different.  She is just dozing off, when she hears the horns blow at dawn.  Metal swords and shields clank in the background and horses’ hooves thunder in the distance.  The only battle Lucy has ever witnessed was the siege at Hardstone.  And, since she was on the opposite end in that situation, she isn’t sure what to expect from the attacking side. 

She hasn’t even washed her face yet when Rufus reappears at the tent.  Jiya most likely hasn’t slept all night, but she’s ready to go.  Lady Jeniah hasn’t even made it out of her bed yet.  Rufus informs the women that their presence has been requested in the commander’s tent as soon as possible.  Lucy knows better than to keep the prince waiting, so she splashes water on her face as quickly as possible and dries it with the linen cloth provided.  Jeniah still refuses to leave the comfort and warmth of the furs, so Lucy decides to do something about that.  She takes the leftover water from the basin, walks over to Jeniah’s bed and dumps it on her.

“Get up.  We’ve been summoned.  We need to go.  There’s a war to be fought.”

Lucy and Jiya drudge over to the commander’s tent.  When they walk in, the men are gathering around a table, a map sprawling across it, as they review their battle tactics.  They all stop talking the minute they come into the tent. 

“Where’s Jeniah?” the prince asks.

“In the tent still, Your Grace,” Jiya responds.

He does _not_ appear to be pleased by this piece of information in the slightest. 

“Has there been any word on my sister?” Lucy pleads.

“Unfortunately, no, but I have not heard back from all of our scouts just yet.  We’ll find her, my lady.”

A few moments later, Jeniah rushes into the tent, half out of breath.

“Good, you’re all here now.  Jeniah, Lucy, I want to review the evacuation plans with you in case we are not victorious.  Jiya you are also welcome to hear them, but I think I know by now that you will stay and treat the wounded, no matter what side they fight for.”

Jiya nods in agreement.

“Jeniah, you will be escorted by your personal guard back to the ship in Sandbank Bay.  If I fall, you should return to Scapa.”

“Alright,” Jeniah replies.

“Lucy, Rufus will escort you and Kevin to The Dunes.  Lady Marri will keep you safe.”

“What about me?” Sir Connor questions.

“A hand stays with his king.”

Sir Connor grumbles something under his breath, but doesn’t protest any further.  A silent assent flows through the room.  The men roll up the map and disperse.  Sir Connor walks to the corner where the prince’s armor has been laid out.

“Just the gambeson, gorget and the tabard,” the prince instructs.

“But, Your Grace, that’s not much protection.  Perhaps you should-”

“I _said_ just those.  The plate slows me down.”

Once he’s fully armed, they all leave the tent.  The prince mounts his horse, glances back at Lucy and then rides off to war.

Battle is something that Flynn is good at, even if he doesn’t enjoy it.  He sees violence as more of a necessary evil.  It’s the way of the world, the world that bred him for this purpose.  The role of warrior has been granted to him, not earned.  Sure, he’s earned the respect and admiration of his fellow mercenaries and soldiers because of his prowess in battle, but he’s a second son, destined to protect and gaze, but never sit upon the throne. 

After his mother passed, he flung himself head first into any conflict he could find.  None of that changed when he returned to Ritten either, until now.  Now, he has Lucy to worry about.  She needs him.  _If he falls, what will happen to her?_   He shakes the thought from his brain.  He needs to focus.  He rides with a company of his men from the encampment to the front lines of the siege.  The city stands on the brink of defeat and he knows it, senses it.  It will not be easy, war never is, but they stand an excellent chance of emerging victorious. 

His field general, Karl, briefs him upon arrival.  He orders the trebuchets to pummel the city.  After a few volleys, his infantry men gather in the center of the formation, as the cavalry flanks them on both sides.  Archers make up the rear of the guard.  Karl leads the infantrymen and Flynn leads the cavalry.  They charge towards the city gate, as House Neville’s men rain hell down upon them.  Two men at his side fall within seconds.  Another two fall when their horses do.  He feels a sharp sting as something whizzes by his left arm.  The city gates open and House Neville’s cavalry pours out in full gallop.  He unsheathes his sword, as he urges his horse onward.  He cuts down four of them on his first pass.  He’s already lost a lot of men, but so have they.  His men are better equipped and aren’t half-starved.  He continues the assault and slashes and hacks his way towards the gates. 

The infantrymen arrive with the battering ram just as his horse is taken down by two arrows.  The force jolts him forward and over the horse, and he lands on his back with a thud.  He gasps for breath, as his chest heaves up and down.  Chaos ensues all around him, as the sounds of metal clank and ring in his ears.  He stumbles to his knees, before he finds the will to stand.  The will’s name is Lucy.  He pictures the expression on her face when he saw her this morning.  It’s as if she was silently pleading, “Come back.” 

He feels a presence next to him and then an arm under his elbow.  As he turns his head, he sees Karl, as well as a sword heading their way.  Instinct takes over and he dodges the blade before he plunges it into the man’s back.  He gazes towards the gates.  The battering ram has made a great deal of progress.  They’re so close.  He surveys the field in search of Noah, only to remain in constant disappointment.  If this was his castle under siege, you better believe he would’ve ridden out to meet his attackers.  It appears the coward is a no show.

An arrow pierces his left arm, but he ignores it and surges forward.  The battering ram crashes through the gates a few minutes later, and his men flood into the city.  They take control of the lower sections of the city easily.  House Neville’s forces retreat to the higher sections and the castle proper.  It’s only half over.  The lead men form a shield wall, as they creep through the winding city streets.  Skirmish after skirmish occurs, as the contingent spirals its way towards the castle.  They’re close enough to view the castle gates at this point.  As he peers up at the castle, he sees the enemy holds it with a smaller force than he was anticipating.  He deduces that they’re in the middle of preparations for an evacuation.  Luckily, the Scapanine navy has blockaded the harbor as he ordered.  His enemy has only one option: flee on foot to the north. 

As they reach the castle gates, a small force ambushes them.  Numbers account for nothing in such close quarters, and neither does a sword.  He sheathes his sword and pulls his dagger.  He mows down three men before the blade slashes across his back.  He falls to his knees, and Karl pushes by him and engages the enemy.  One of his men helps him to his feet, and he staggers for a second before he presses on.  He feels the coolness of the blood as it runs down his back and arm, as well as the stickiness of the spatter on his face. 

The castle gates are breached and they fight their way to the battlements.  They dispatch the small force House Neville left behind inside the castle in no time flat.  Flynn peers over the battlements, as he views House Neville’s army retreating north, the royal carriage in tow.  The battle is over, but the war still has yet to be won.  Bloody and bruised, he raises his sword and declares victory to the raucous cheers of his men.  It has taken blood and brawn to reclaim the capital, to reclaim his family’s throne.  Blood and brawn, his house words.  Words he has always lived by, words that ring true, words that have seen him through another living nightmare.

 


	20. Long May He Reign

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy makes an important decision involving Amy. Jiya treats Flynn’s wounds after the battle. Wyatt and Amy make their way closer to the capital. A coronation occurs.

**_House Flynn Encampment-The Shoals_ **

Lucy waits in the commander’s tent, partially for fear she’ll miss out on information about her sister and partially because she worries about the prince.  She needs to admit she has feelings for him, perhaps not to him, as she has no reason, nor will it serve any purpose, but to herself.  She has to be honest with herself. 

Lady Jeniah waits in the tent the women spent the night in, and Rufus comes in and out of the commander’s tent often.  Lucy, at least, has Rufus to pass the time with (well, when he isn’t busy with camp duties).  Jiya’s busy with preparations for the wounded, as there undoubtedly will be many of them to treat. 

It’s during one of the times that Rufus leaves the commander’s tent that Lucy realizes she is all alone.  Everyone else here has their place, except her.  She never felt more useless in her life.  She’s become nothing more than a burden to the prince, another thing for him to have to account for.  She isn’t a healer like Jiya, or an advisor like Sir Connor and Rufus, or a warrior like Karl.  She isn’t even his betrothed, like Jeniah.  _What is she doing here?  She needs to be out looking for Amy._  

Her mind is made, her decision final.  She slips out of the commander’s tent unseen and makes her way towards the stables.  Most of the horses have already been taken to the battle, but there are some still in their stalls.  She’s able to find a stable boy and convince him to saddle her horse. 

Lucy makes her way to the kitchens and manages to steal a few loaves of bread.  With the bread securely hidden in her cloak, she creeps back to the stables.  She mounts her horse and begins the slow trot towards the edge of the encampment, when she hears the raven’s caw from above.  She slows the horse and watches as a soldier brings the scroll to the commander’s tent.  A few moments later, Rufus exits the tent and proclaims the prince’s victory.  The soldiers erupt in cheers, laughter and song.  The tightness in Lucy’s chest subsides.  The prince has been victorious and she’s glad, but she still has unfinished business.  She still hasn’t found Amy. 

The chaos of victory provides the perfect opportunity for her to slip away without notice.  She weaves her way through the men, as she tries not to rouse their suspicion.  The elation on their faces warms her heart.  She finds that she lingers longer than she was anticipating and she doesn’t understand why.  _Why is it so hard to walk away from this, to walk away from him?_

“Going somewhere?”

Her heart sinks.  She knows that voice.  She pulls on the reins and swings her horse around. 

“I was searching for you.  The prince is victorious.  Should we not be preparing to ride to the capital?” Lucy asks innocently.

Sir Connor eyes her suspiciously, but nods in response.

“I will have the servants send your things.”

Lucy thanks him, and the two ride back through the encampment in silence.  Once they reach the commander’s tent, Sir Connor dismounts from his horse and disappears inside.  _If she takes off now at a gallop, she might make it out of here yet.  But, she’d probably have to run people down in order to do so, and she can’t do that._

Sir Connor exits the tent a moment later, Rufus and little Kevin right behind him. 

“My lady, would you not be more comfortable in the carriage with Lady Jeniah?” Sir Connor questions.

Lucy glares daggers back at him.  _She would rather eat glass._

“No, Sir, I prefer to ride.”

**_King’s Keep_ **

Lucy might regret that idea if she didn’t abhor Lady Jeniah.  The road is rough.  There is no option for her to make an escape, so she rides alongside Rufus and little Kevin. 

When they enter the gates of the capital, the lower section of the city remains in chaos.  Thankfully, their armed escort provides them protection, as they make their way towards the castle.  The upper levels of the city are controlled by the soldiers of House Flynn, and some of the shop merchants line the streets to gander at the small procession.  Many of them cheer as if they themselves have taken part in the epic battle.  Then, Lucy hears it.  A woman yells her name out, as they make their way to the castle.

“Queen Lucy!  Queen Lucy!”

At first, Lucy thinks she’s imagining it.  When she hears it a second and then a third time, she cringes internally, but plasters a smile to her face and waves at the people.  The last time she had been called that, well the only time, was after her one day marriage to the repulsive King Jake.  She has been through so much since then, she feels like that girl is a completely different person than the woman she is now.

The castle is guarded by the prince’s former mercenary company.  Once they’re inside the castle gates, the servants help her dismount her horse.  She surveys the courtyard.  It has changed since she was last there.  Unsure of what she should do or where she should go, she waits for Sir Connor to give her instructions.  After Sir Connor directs Lady Jeniah and her entourage to the queen’s chambers and makes arrangements for the servants to take little Kevin to his room, he turns back to address Lucy. 

“If you still truly want to leave, I thought perhaps you might want to say goodbye to your friend first,” he whispers.

_Her friend?  The prince is not her friend._   _He’s-he’s, what now?  She can’t really say what he is to her_.

He must sense her confusion, because he clarifies his statement. “Your friend, Jiya. She’s here.  She is attending to His Grace’s injuries as we speak, but she should finish soon I am told.  Do you care to wait here in the courtyard or indoors?”

Lucy indicates she’ll wait inside for Jiya and she follows him into the castle.  It feels strange to be back there again.  She’s wanted to go back for so long, and now that she’s here, she can’t wait to leave.  Sir Connor leads her up to the healer’s chamber, which is part of the larger complex of royal apartments.  He stops in front of a door and motions to it, then turns and walks back the way they came. 

Lucy opens the door and is startled, as she didn’t expect anyone to be in there.  She figured she would wait in Jiya’s chambers until Jiya had finished with the king in his. To her shock, Jiya is already inside, tending to a wounded soldier.  Jiya turns her head at the sound of the door, sees that it’s Lucy, and goes back to her work.

“Lucy, is everything okay?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you had company.  I’ll wait outside.”

“There’s no need for that, Lucy.  After all, you’ve seen me with my shirt off on more than one occasion,” Flynn teases.

Jiya steps back slightly as she grabs some clean cloth from the table beside her.  Lucy can see him now, well his profile at least.  She moves closer and audibly gasps when she sees the wound on his back.  She instinctively grabs her own left arm, the visual representation in front of her refreshing the memory of her own wound.  His wound, like hers, is deep and slices full across his back.  She’s seen him shirtless before, but in the light of Jiya’s chamber, Lucy can see the healed white lines of prior scars as well.  She’s previously viewed the old scars of his chest, but his back is a different story.  The larger ones notwithstanding, tiny scars litter his sculpted back and she gets a firsthand look at just how violent his life has been.

He’s sitting on a bench and leaning forward onto the table, so Jiya can inspect the wound.  Then Lucy notices he also has two more wounds on his left arm.  Blood is everywhere.  It trickles down his arm and back in a steady stream, and his face is almost unrecognizable to her.  Honestly, the entire scene makes her queasy.  She’s never done well with the sight of blood.  The blood covers his face, caking and soaking a crimson hue into his onyx locks.  He starts to wobble on the bench, as the blood loss enacts its toll.  Unable to fight any longer, he lays his head on the table.

“Lucy, I’m going to need your help,” Jiya informs her.  “Do you think you can help me?  He’s a lot worse than he looks.”

Panic rips through her like a snake’s venom.  _He looks awful and he’s worse than he looks?_   She shakes her head in response and follows Jiya’s instructions. 

When he opens his eyes, they’re unable to focus properly.  The world is blurry, fuzzy and painful.  _Why is he in so much pain?_   Then, he remembers his wounds.  He rubs his eyes with his right hand and then tries to focus again. 

“Lucy?”

“You’re awake!” she exclaims.

She’s sitting at his bedside.  He scans around the room in an attempt to catch his bearings.  He’s in the chamber of the king in the capital.  He knows that much.  He visited it enough as a child.  It hasn’t changed that much.  Lucy is the only other person in the room.  _Why is she here?_

“You say that as if you had some doubt I would,” he jokes.

Suddenly, she takes his hand in hers and holds it tenderly.  It surprises him, but he doesn’t recoil, reveling in the warmth and softness of her touch. 

“We were all very worried.  You were out for almost three days.  Your injuries are severe and you lost a lot of blood.”

“ _You_ , were worrying about me?”

“Yes.  Is that so hard to believe?”

She still holds his hand in hers, which completely stupefies him. 

“Maybe?”

She smiles at his response.

“How do you feel?” Lucy questions.

“Like a man who survived a battle.  The important thing is that I’m alive.”

She releases his hand and stands up.  “I will inform Sir Connor you’re awake.  He’ll be very relieved.”

She turns to leave the room, but he grabs her wrist gently.

“Thank you, Lucy.”

She smiles back at him and then pulls away. 

Sir Connor is in his face in no time.  He’s yammering on about the coronation and the marriage.  His ears perk up when he mentions that.  He did agree to the marriage, and he has avoided it like a plague ever since.  No one can deny Lady Jeniah is beautiful, and many would find her desirable.  He’s not one of them, though.  The thought of her as his wife makes death in battle preferable.  She’s spoiled, arrogant, entitled and insolent.  Most of all, she isn’t Lucy.  He has never dared to hope before, but _now_ , now he did.  _She held his hand.  Held his hand for a while, and said she was worried about him.  Have her feelings changed?_

“Coronation first.  Then we need to drive towards Rittenfell.  I need to end this war before winter arrives.”

“You also need to produce an heir.  The lords need to know that House Flynn will rule this land for a long time.  You need to offer them what the other side cannot: stability,” Sir Connor opines.

Servants help him get out of bed.  His arm and back are heavily bandaged, and he is in a great deal of pain. 

“Bathe him please, but make sure you consult with the healer about the bandages and his wounds before you do,” Sir Connor instructs the servants. 

He’s not in the mood to argue with him, so he acquiesces.  He can have his coronation.  He needs time to heal anyway before he goes into battle again. 

**_Somewhere In The Shoals_ **

“Quit whining.  We’re almost there.”

“My ass is numb,” Amy complains.

“The encampment should be just over this ridge,” Wyatt answers.

They ride over the ridge and Amy peers at Wyatt with utter disdain.

“Looks like a bunch of trash and ashes to me.”

“I swear the encampment was here.  They must’ve taken the city,” Wyatt surmises.

“Seriously?”

“Let’s go.  We can make it to the capital by midday if we ride hard.”

Amy rolls her eyes.  She’ll ride hard if it means she can finally be rid of Sir Wyatt Logan. 

“Fine.  Let’s go,” Amy huffs.

**_King’s Keep_ **

“Is all this _necessary_?” Flynn asks, as the flurry of servants swirl around his chamber.

With his bad arm and back wound, he needs help getting his clothes on.  So, the servants pull on his black, leather lace-up tunic.  He struggled with his black pants on his own and knew the shirt would be next to impossible.  They lace up the tunic, then drape the burgundy sash down the right shoulder.  The sash is clasped with a double battle axe broach of polished silver.  The entire outfit is capped off with an overly long, black leather belt and black leather boots that extend up above his knees.  He feels completely ridiculous, but knows it’s a family tradition that he needs to uphold.  The door opens a minute later and Sir Connor enters.  Flynn laughs harder than he has in years.

“What?  I look fantastic.  I don’t know what you’re laughing about,” Sir Connor states, as he shakes his head.

Sir Connor dons a long, silk, black robe with a burgundy brocade pattern and a burgundy silk undershirt.  His belt has silver battle axes, with chains that connect each axe to the next.  His boots are not as high as his own, but sit just below the knee. 

Rufus and Kevin enter a few moments later, both dressed in black leather doublets with black jerkins overtop, complete with burgundy pinstripes. 

“I can’t believe you’re allowing your father to step out in public looking like _that_ ,” Flynn jokes.

“You think I have any control over the old man?” Rufus answers.

“Let’s go.  You can both criticize my fashion choices later.  Right now, we have a king to crown.”

They march towards the throne room.  The guards open the large iron doors and Rufus and Kevin enter and take their places.  Sir Connor enters next and Flynn follows as well as his guards.  He sees the burgundy and black banners of House Flynn hanging along the throne room.  The room is filled to the brim with noble lords and ladies.  He takes a deep breath as he proceeds down the aisle and ascends the stairs to the throne.  He was never supposed to be here, never meant to wear the crown.  Yet, here he is, the last surviving member of House Flynn, about to be crowned king. 

Unfortunately, when House Neville overthrew his father, they had his crown melted down and reforged.  That crown still remains with his enemy, so a new one needed to be fashioned.  He may not have his father’s crown, but he does have his mother’s.  It’s the one thing she managed to save before they escaped.  She kept it for all those years until she died.  He’s been unable to part with it and brought it with him when he returned to Ritten.  It’s much smaller, since it had been forged to fit a woman’s head, so he has it melted down and reforged.  He hopes for a rebirth of his house, so he thinks it’s fitting that the crown is reborn as well.  They take the gold from his mother’s crown and place it in certain sections of the new silver one, creating a two-toned effect.  The silver sections are shaped like the blades of battle axes, with the gold acting as the axes’ etchings and embellishments.  

When he reaches the throne, he turns around to face the crowd.  One face in the front row draws him in instantly.  She has never looked more beautiful than she did at that moment.  Lucy wears a dark, purple dress with a white brocade design and embroidered crisscross trim.  It has a long train and cap sleeves.  She wears her hair up, save for two long tendrils that curl down and frame her face, the back braided in an elaborate bun.  A choker of layered pearls graces her slender neck, a matching bracelet adorns her arm, and tear drop-shaped pearl earrings complete her ensemble.  He finds it interesting that she chooses not to wear the colors of House Preston, but instead wears the colors of her ancestors, House Ritten.  He’ll have to ask her about that later. 

Sir Connor holds the crown above his head. 

“I now pronounce Garcia of House Flynn, first of his name, King of Ritten and Protector of the Realm.  Long may he reign,” Sir Connor declares, as he slides the crown onto Flynn’s head.

“Long may he reign,” the audience repeats.

He watches as Lucy repeats the phrase along with the rest of the crowd.  It’s the first time she acknowledges him as her regent in any way (save for her wisecrack about being kingly for the first time). 

The supplicants gather in an orderly line to pay their fealty.  He hates the pomp and bullshit more than anything.  The crown is heavy and he just wants it off his head.  _Probably the first time that a king’s ever said that_.  When he glances over again, Lucy is no longer there.

With Lucy lost in the crowd, he scans the room and meets eyes with Lord Robert Thompkins, his cousin on his mother’s side.  He has not yet received the man’s fealty and Lord Thompkins appears nervous. 

“Lord Thompkins,” he calls.

“Your Grace.”

“Do you not plan on pledging your fealty to me?” he questions.

“I-I.”

“Speak freely my lord.”

“I only hesitate, Your Grace, because many of us are wary of your betrothal.  Many of us will never support a foreign queen when there are suitable alternatives right here as we speak,” Lord Thompkins explains.

“Perhaps if you and some of the other lords had shown their support and committed men to my cause earlier, I would not have had to seek foreign assistance.  I swore an oath.  I will not break it to ease the paltry apprehensions of a few lords.  And, as far as suitable alternatives, I am not aware of any at the moment.”

Lord Thompkins’ face turns a bright shade of red, as it twists in anger.

“A Daughter of Ritten stands not thirty feet from you!” Lord Thompkins shouts.

Everyone stares at Lucy, who looks like she wishes she _had_ flung herself off that cliff.  She’s speechless and just stands there not knowing what to do or say.  

“If you are referring to Lady Preston, my lord, I will have you know she is already betrothed,” he explains.

“To the enemy.  Yet, she’s here, Your Grace.  If the lady will acquiesce to a union-”

“No.  Enough!  We still have a war to win.  Do you pledge your fealty or are you my enemy Lord Thompkins?”

Thankfully, since discussing potential marriage to Lucy is making his heart do dangerous things, there’s a commotion outside the doors of the throne room that grab everyone’s attention.  As he listens more intently, he hears a man yell at the guards to open the door.  He’s armed, but only with his sword and no armor to speak of. 

A loud crash occurs and then the throne room doors are thrust open.  His guards lay unconscious next to the doors, as Sir Wyatt Logan strolls in.  He stands up from the throne, as Wyatt and his contingent approach. 

“Nice of you to finally grace us with your presence!” Flynn says snidely.

“My apologies, Your Grace.  I’m afraid we have an urgent situation that needs your attention.”

Flynn rolls his eyes, but motions for Wyatt to join him in the antechamber adjacent to the throne room.  As Sir Wyatt’s men pass the contingent towards the front of the room, one of them stops dead in their tracks.  He’s a young boy, dirty and dressed in tattered clothes.  There is something very familiar about this boy, though he’s unable to place where he knows the face.

“Lucy?”

She turns her head and her eyes go wide with disbelief.

“Amy?”

They run to each other and hug tightly.  Tears stream down both their faces, as they gaze at each other.  Lucy inspects Amy from head to toe.

“I can’t believe it’s really you.  You’re alive!” Lucy cries.

Lucy refuses to let go of her sister.  She holds her and sways back and forth, her eyes closed.  Finally, she pulls back and touches the ends of Amy’s hair.

“You cut your hair?”

“Long story, sis.”

Rufus ushers Lucy and Amy into the antechamber.  Sir Connor, Wyatt, and Denise have already staked out a spot around the table.  As soon as everyone is in the room, the guards shut the doors.  He pulls the crown off his head and lays it on the table. 

“Where the hell have you been?” he asks Wyatt.

“Flynn, they have my wife.”

“Your Grace,” Sir Connor chides, as he glares at Wyatt.

“I know.  Why didn’t you or Anthony ask for my help?  We could’ve come up with a plan,” Flynn inquires.

“Anthony had a plan, at least that’s what he told me.  Plus, you were a little busy with Hardstone under siege,” Wyatt explains.

“And, you came across Lady Preston how?”

“I went to go to Rittenfell and get my wife back.  We ran across her and her friend in The Glen.  Amy told me Jess wasn’t being held in Rittenfell, but she had heard them talk about Preston village, so we went there next.”

“Did you find anything?” Sir Connor questions.

“Jessica was definitely being held there, but they moved her before they executed Anthony.”

“Were you able to secure Anthony’s body, so he could be properly buried?” Flynn demands.

“They desecrated and burned his body.  I was too late to save him,” Wyatt states, as he lowers his head in shame.

“But, you did manage to save my sister.  Thank you, Sir Wyatt,” Lucy states.

“Don’t thank him yet!  He’s the ass that cut my hair off!” Amy complains.

“I like her already,” Flynn chuckles.

“It got you out of there and to safety didn’t it?” Wyatt asks incredulously.

Amy rolls her eyes, as Lucy hugs her again.

“They must have been holding Jessica here until they retreated to Rittenfell.  They don’t hold any other territory except for The Watershed.  I’ll send scouts, but we had the northern routes cut off.  I doubt she’s there.  So, we need to come up with a plan to attack Rittenfell,” he declares.

“Rittenfell is an impenetrable fortress.  You’ll need a lot more men and a long, protracted siege to even have half a chance of breaching the castle gates,” Denise interjects.

“Plus, the minute you attack, they’ll kill Jessica,” Wyatt responds.

“We need to get a force inside the castle.  They can save Jessica and open the gates before they even know what hit them,” Denise states with authority.

“You cannot just waltz into Rittenfell, open the gates and then waltz out with their hostage,” Flynn affirms.

“Yes-yes, you can,” Amy interrupts.

Everyone turns to look at her with raised eyebrows, including her own sister.

“You can get in through the tunnels.  It’s how I escaped.  They won’t be guarded, because they don’t know about them.”

“Tunnels?” Denise questions.

“Yes, tunnels.  They’re old and some sections have caved in, but I managed to find my way out.  The old Kings of Ritten built them in case they ever needed to escape.  The story goes they murdered the laborers afterwards, so no one would know of their existence.  See Lucy, being naughty and playing where one’s not supposed to comes in handy sometimes,” Amy teases.

“How did you manage to make it to the tunnels from the Great Hall?” Lucy asks.

“Um, I wasn’t in the hall when everything happened.  I was already in the crypts.”

“What?  Why?”

“Ever since you left, I’ve been going down to Princess Lucy’s tomb.  I talk to you there.  It’s something you used to do, so I felt like I was closer to you there,” Amy responds.

“You were talking to a slab of stone instead of enjoying a wedding?  You Preston women are _strange_ indeed,” Sir Connor comments.

“That’s not entirely accurate.  I wasn’t down there talking.”

The whole room stares at Amy, as they anticipate some additional explanation.

“As a lady, that’s all I will say about that,” Amy adds.

“Amy!” Lucy shrieks.

Amy rolls her eyes at Lucy and turns to face the others.

“Alright, let’s come up with a plan and end this war once and for all,” Flynn declares.

 


	21. Veiled in Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy struggles to cope with her trauma and leans on Lucy for support. Flynn summons Lady Preston to the war room. The march towards Rittenfell begins. Lucy has a frightful encounter. Amy gives Lucy her namesake’s journal.

**_King’s Keep_ **

Amy Preston is coping.  She feels happy she could assist the king by telling him about the tunnels, but she is having nightmares about Silas.  She’s thankful she didn’t see her mother’s death, or she probably would be having nightmares about that as well.  She doesn’t scream out when she wakes from them, but she is sweaty and uneasy. 

She crawls out of bed, throws on her dressing gown, and takes the candle from her bedside in her hand.  Lucy is just in the next room.  She debates whether she really wants to bother her sister at this late hour, but decides she needs someone to talk to.  She needs her big sister. 

Amy opens the door to her chamber and peeks out into the corridor.  It is silent and still.  She creeps to the chamber next to her and taps lightly on the door.  There is a faint light emanating from the bottom of the door, but she doesn’t hear movement. 

She knocks again, this time slightly harder than before, and Lucy answers the door a second later.  Amy doesn’t have to utter a single word.  She knows her sister can read the expression on her face.  Lucy pulls her into the room and shuts the door behind them, trying not to wake any of the other occupants of the castle. 

They spend the night recounting what both of them have been through since they last saw each other in Rittenfell, well most of it.  Amy can tell Lucy is holding something back from her, and she’s not quite sure why.  _What the hell could be worse than any of the other stuff?_ Amy ponders that for a moment and comes up with the only thing she can.  She’s not sure how to broach the subject, it being delicate to begin with, but she needs to know.

“Lucy, what aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing.  I’ve told you everything.”

She repeats her question to her sister.  Lucy cannot look her in the eye, and she knows she’s right about this.

“Lucy, did-were you-”

“Was I what?”

“Mistreated or violated by someone?  Besides the dungeon incident.  Is that what you’re not telling me?”

“Gods no, Ames.  Nothing like that.”

Lucy exhales loudly and takes her sister’s hand in hers.

“I thought our entire family was gone.  I thought you were gone.  I didn’t want to live anymore.”

“Lucy!”

“I’m not proud of it.  It’s embarrassing that I let my grief and trauma fester like that.  That’s why I didn’t tell you.”

She hugs her sister tightly.  What she has been through has been awful enough, but Lucy has been through hell and back.  They grip each other as if one of them will disappear if they dare let go, and fall asleep the same way.

The next morning, Lucy wakes with Amy still clinging to her.  There is a knock at the door and it opens a moment later.  It’s one of Lucy’s handmaidens. 

“My lady, His Grace requests your presence in the war room.”

She crawls out of bed and begins to dress, when the handmaiden speaks again.  “I’m sorry, my lady.  His Grace requested the _other_ Lady Preston’s presence.”

Confusion sets in.  _What does he want with her sister?_   Amy seems confused as well, but gets out of bed and dresses.

The two women make their way to the war room, once they are presentable.  Lucy cannot fathom what he could possibly want her sister for, but if he thinks she’s leaving her alone with him, he has another thing coming.

They enter the war room and find the king, Sir Connor, Sir Wyatt, Denise, Rufus, Jiya and Karl already around the table waiting. 

“I sent for Amy, not you Lucy,” the king states.

This really throws her for a loop.  She thought they had gotten past all the animosity and were at least acting civilly towards each other, come to some sort of understanding. 

“I’m not leaving my sister’s side, so…”

He shakes his head in annoyance and glances down at the table.  There is a large map of Ritten on it, along with different smaller ones.

“Amy, I need you to draw us a map of the tunnels, so we can get inside the castle,” he instructs.

“I-I can’t do that,” Amy answers.

Everyone’s heads snap and stare at her in disbelief.

“You told us you could get us inside using the tunnels.  Now you’re saying you can’t?” he questions incredulously.

“I told you yesterday.  It’s a maze down there.  I only know by looking at it.  I will lead your men inside and they can take it from there.”

“Amy, no!” Lucy cries.

“No one knows those crypts like we do, Lucy.  I was running for my life in those tunnels.  What if I forget a turn? They’ll be lost for days down there.”

Lucy knows that Amy is right, of course she does.  It doesn’t mean this idea is sitting any better with her right now.  If they’re caught, they’ll kill Amy.  If that happens…

“I’m going with you.  You’re right.  No one knows the crypts like we do,” Lucy declares.

She is not ignorant to the look she receives from the king.  He’s being beyond frustrating this morning and she can’t figure out why. 

After going back and forth over different ideas for a plan to invade Rittenfell, they finally decide that Amy and Lucy will lead Sir Wyatt, Rufus and Karl, along with a few of their best men through the tunnels.  The king, Denise, Jiya and Sir Connor will accompany the army and attempt to draw them out onto the battlefield in order to provide a distraction.  They will need to hold them on the field of battle until Wyatt and company can locate Jessica and open the gates.  The entire plan hinges on their ability to open the gates.  _Great, no pressure or anything_. 

The entire army and party rides together and makes camp along the River Keynes.  Tomorrow, the tunnel party will ride ahead of the main army and make their way towards the castle unseen, if all goes according to plan.  _If all goes according to plan_.  Flynn dreads those words.  He did not want to involve Lucy and her sister in this mess.  He would much rather leave them back in the capital where they will be safe.  There are too many wildcards in a battle, too many things that can and _will_ go wrong.  He doesn’t want Lucy anywhere near it.  They’re already in enemy territory, and he shudders to think what would happen if she is captured.  At least if she stays in the capital, she has multiple options for escape.  If they lose the battle, she _will_ need to escape.  Unfortunately, only Amy knows her way through the tunnels, and Lucy has not left her side since their reunion.  There is no way to convince her to change her mind, she’s too stubborn.

Since they will go their separate ways tomorrow, he gathers them in his tent for supper.  Even clad in plain cloth fabric, she is still beautiful.  Some women need the distractions of silk dresses and ostentatious jewelry to hide what they lack naturally, but not her.  He tries to etch her face, her laugh and her voice into his brain.  If he falls in battle, those _will_ be his last thoughts. 

He’s lost in his thoughts, when he overhears part of a conversation between Lucy, Amy and Jiya. 

“I bet you’re glad you stayed in King’s Keep, Lucy.  If you’d have left you and Amy probably would’ve passed each other like ships in the night,” Jiya jokes.

“I know!  What are the odds?” Lucy laughs, as she takes another sip of her wine.

He shouldn’t interject himself into this private conversation, but the words sting his soul.  He needs to know more.

“You were going to leave, Lucy?”

She turns to him, apparently startled by his question.

“I was.  Luckily, someone was being a stubborn ass and giving Jiya a hard time while she was trying to treat his wounds.  She needed help, so I stayed to help her.”

He ponders her answer for a moment, allowing the ladies to continue their conversation.  It hurts that she was going to leave, but he finds it even more curious about her so-called reason for staying.  Sure, Jiya may have required her help at that juncture, but that does not explain the reason she stuck around for as long as she did, nor does it explain why she sat vigil by his bedside.  Any one of the servants or his men could have sat by and waited for him to wake up, so why did she?  He’s always wondered.  Perhaps, one day, he’ll have the nerve to ask her.

“Lucy.”

The wind whispers her name in the crisp, night air. 

“Lucy.”

She bolts upright in the bed, Amy still sound asleep next to her.  She peers across the tent and finds Jiya and Denise also asleep. 

“Lucy.”

A gust of blustery wind flies through the tent, blowing one of the remaining few candles completely out.  The air is eerily quiet, except for the wind, and she hears that infernal howling in the distance again.  She tells herself it’s just a dream, just like before.  The howling gets louder and appears to be getting closer.  Convincing herself to try to go back to sleep, she lays back down and slams her eyes shut.  She thought she was done with these dreams.  The howling seems to stop, and she’s just about to drift off, when she hears the horses in the camp start to neigh and shuffle around.  Something is spooking them, and Lucy prays to the gods it is not what she thinks it is. 

“Lucy, come home,” the voice whispers.

The sweat is pouring down her body, her heart is racing and she is squeezing her eyes tight to keep them closed.  The wind whips through the tent again and she hears movement inside.  She’s holding her breath now, trying to will herself awake, but it is not happening because she’s not asleep.  Suddenly, she feels a heavy weight on the bed and loud panting. 

“Lucy, come home,” the voice says again.

She opens her eyes slowly to find a white wolf standing over her in the bed.  It’s not menacing or threatening, just panting with its tongue out.  She screams loudly, slams her eyes shut and pulls the furs over her head.  A second later, she feels a hand on her arm shaking her body. 

“Lucy!”

She opens her eyes and Amy, Jiya and Denise are all peering down at her.  The next thing she knows, the king, Karl and two soldiers rush into the tent, swords drawn.  Amy informs them that Lucy only had a nightmare, and the men sheath their swords and exit the tent.  The king lingers at the tent’s entrance momentarily.  He gazes back at Lucy and then leaves. 

She’s embarrassed to say the least, and Amy holds her in her arms and rocks her.  Lucy finally regains her composure and slides out of the bed.  She walks towards the water pitcher in the corner, when she stops dead in her tracks.  There, on the ground at the foot of the bed, are muddy paw prints.  She bends down to get a closer look, and Denise follows her eyes to the spot and does the same. 

“What is that?” Denise asks. “It looks like paw prints.”

“They are.”

Denise and Amy glance at her in confusion, but Jiya has a different expression on her face.  It’s almost an expression of understanding. 

“I’ll explain another time.  It’s not important,” Lucy advises.

That’s the last the prints are mentioned, at least for the time being.

The time comes for the parties to part ways.  Wyatt and Karl gather the horses on the outskirts of the encampment.  Rufus waits by the tent for Lucy and Amy, as the rest of the men prepare to decamp.  Lucy and Amy exit the tent both clad in long pants.  Rufus raises an eyebrow at their strange attire.

“What?” Amy chides. “You didn’t think I was going back into those dirty, nasty tunnels with exposed legs again, did you?”

Rufus shrugs his shoulders and leads them to the horses where Jiya, Denise, Sir Connor and the king wait to see them off.  Sir Connor gives Rufus a hug, then grips both of his shoulders and stares directly into his eyes.

“Stay safe, my son.”

“You too.”

“You know what to do if something happens to one of us, right?” Sir Connor questions.

Rufus nods his affirmation, then turns to face Jiya.  They both gawk at each other with longing, before Jiya suddenly pulls him towards her and kisses him.  They finally separate when they’re breathless, and Rufus wears a happy, yet shocked expression on his face (which is pretty much the same expression everyone else also has).

“Don’t die,” Jiya teases.

“You either.  Stay close to your mother.”

Jiya nods and then Rufus retreats back to his horse and mounts it.  Wyatt attempts to help Amy into the saddle, but she swats his hand away like a pesky gnat and pulls herself up easily.  Lucy is about to mount her steed, when the king approaches her with a smirk on his face.

“No kiss for me, Lucy?  It’s possibly your last chance.”

She rolls her eyes and awkwardly mounts the horse.  “In your dreams.”

“Every night,” he answers with a sly smile.

She huffs loudly in annoyance, grabs the reins and turns her horse in the opposite direction, ignoring his last retort.  As he watches Lucy ride away, he has an ominous feeling this is the last time he will ever see her.  That thought cripples him, even if he’s pretty sure they have no future together.  She’s the light in his life, the candle that guides him through his personal darkness, a counterbalance to his basest impulses.  He needs her and he is not too proud to admit it.  This is the most alive he’s felt in years, and it’s all because of her.  He knows he still has a great deal to make up for and personal growth to accomplish.  She makes him a better man, a better king. 

Lucy, Amy, Rufus, Karl and Sir Wyatt, along with their men, ride their horses towards the river.  They cannot delay in their travels and still have a great distance to traverse, but they must ford the River Keynes first.  Initially, Wyatt tries to convince the lot of them to ride east and use the old abandoned ferry, but Lucy puts the kibosh on that so fast his head practically spins. 

“I don’t understand why we can’t just try, Lucy?  Plus, who left you in charge of this mission?”

“The old ferry is abandoned for a reason, Wyatt.  It’s not safe.”

“I’m sure Rufus could rig something up.”

“Wyatt, we’re not as, oh how shall I put this, as _fragile_ as you southerners.  If our people won’t use it, it’s in _really_ bad shape.  Plus, it’s in the complete opposite direction.”

“Well, do either of you have a better suggestion then?” he asks snidely.

Lucy stays silent for a moment, wracking her brain for a solution to this issue.  Amy stares blankly back at her and shrugs her shoulders.  Suddenly, Lucy’s eyes grow wide and she sits up straighter in the saddle.  She turns to address Amy to seek her approval and endorsement of her brilliant idea. 

“I bet you if I ask, old Man Calhoun would do it.”

“You think?  Doesn’t he hate everyone?” Amy questions.

“Not me.  He’s always been nice to me,” Lucy responds.

“Well, it’s worth a shot.”

The others agree to try, and Lucy leads the way towards Calhoun’s cabin.  They ride through thick bramble and overgrown brush until they reach a small, run-down cabin hidden amongst the foliage.  Lucy requests that they remain where they are, as she will approach the cabin by herself. 

She slows her horse to a trot, as she cautiously approaches.  Old Man Calhoun has a reputation for being less than friendly and welcoming, but considering Lucy taught the man how to read and write, he’s always been amiable towards her.  A hermit by nature, he distrusts most people in general, but most definitely outsiders (which basically means anyone outside of The Glen).  His grayish-white hair is long and unkempt, his beard just as scraggly, yet he blends into his surroundings seamlessly.  He’s as superstitious as most of the northern common folk, clinging to the old gods and the past, longing for the days of old when magic and majesty reigned supreme.  She dismounts her horse, ties the rein to a nearby tree, and strolls towards the front porch.  Unbeknownst to her, Wyatt follows a few paces behind her.  Lucy turns around as she hears his horse approaching.  As soon as Wyatt dismounts his steed, he is met by a dagger to his throat.

“Move a muscle and it’ll be the last thing you ever do,” Calhoun warns.

“Calhoun!” Lucy screams. “Don’t hurt him.”

“This idiot with you, Miss Lucy?”

She huffs loudly, as she steps down from the porch towards them.  “Yes, this idiot is with me.  Wyatt, I told you to wait back there for me.”

“I thought you might need protection,” Wyatt answers.

“Not from me,” Calhoun replies gruffly, as he sheathes his knife again.  “What can I do you for, Miss Lucy?”

“We need to ford the river…quietly, if possible.”

Calhoun raises an eyebrow and scans over Wyatt once more, then turns back to Lucy.

“Will you help me, Calhoun?” Lucy pleads.

“Of course, Miss Lucy.  Best to wait ‘til dark if you don’t wanna be seen.  Go get the rest of the idiots.  You can wait here ‘til the sun sets.”

“Thank you Calhoun.  I won’t forget this.”

Calhoun nods his head, then disappears back into the brush, as fast as he had appeared.  As soon as she’s fairly certain that Calhoun is out of ear-shot, she rounds on Wyatt.  “You idiot!  I told you to wait back there.  He almost didn’t agree to help us.  He doesn’t trust southerners.”

“Doesn’t seem like he trusts northerners much either,” Wyatt quips.

“Just-go get the others.  We don’t have time to waste.”

Wyatt huffs, then walks back to his horse.  He disappears into the brush and returns a few minutes later with the rest of their party.  They won’t have long to wait.  Nightfall will be here within the hour, as twilight draws upon them.  They mull around the cabin in virtual silence, until Calhoun returns from out of nowhere once more.

“Time to go.  High tide now,” Calhoun informs them.

“High tide?  Are you mad?  You ford a river at low tide.  Everyone knows that!” Wyatt declares in annoyance.

“Exactly idiot!  Soldiers don’t patrol river when tide high.”

“Calhoun,” Lucy states calmly, as she places her hand on his forearm, “Ignore the idiot and lead the way.”

She shoots Wyatt a menacing look, before she follows Calhoun down to the river.  Hidden among the cattails, Calhoun pulls out a decent-sized wooden raft.

“Miss Lucy, Miss Amy ride on raft.  You and other idiots, take horses half-mile downstream.”

“What?” Wyatt questions incredulously.

“You wait there for me.  I take ladies across river first.”

“Lucy, I don’t like this,” Wyatt complains.

“Wyatt, shut the hell up and listen to my sister!” Amy yells.

Calhoun pushes the raft into the river and Lucy and Amy climb on board.  Calhoun then motions to Rufus to do the same.  Rufus scampers onto the raft with confusion.

“How come Rufus gets to go on the raft?” Wyatt whines.

“He doesn’t talk back.  He protect ladies while I get you and rest of idiots.”

Calhoun boards the raft and places the steering oar into the water.  He is deadly quiet as he moves them stealthily through the river.  Thankfully, a shadow veils the moon, the clouds obfuscate the stars, and they make it to the other side of the river in the inky blackness of night.  They disembark the raft, and Rufus helps Calhoun pull it onto shore and into another section of tall cattails.  Rufus turns around and Calhoun is gone without a trace.

“Is this guy a ghost, Lucy?”

“What?” Lucy laughs.

“He like, appears and disappears from out of nowhere.”

“Welcome to the north, Rufus,” she laughs.

They wait for a while and Lucy begins to get nervous.  _Did Calhoun betray her?_   As her brain finishes that thought, she hears horses approaching and prays that it’s Wyatt and Karl and not soldiers loyal to House Preston.  She hears Wyatt’s big mouth before she even sees them.  Karl rides ahead and rolls his eyes when they meet Lucy’s.  She thanks Calhoun for his help, and they ride down the path that borders the forest.  It’s virtually impossible to see where they’re going, but they need to get as far away from the river as possible. 

They trudge on for an hour or so, before Karl makes the call they are camping here for the night.  They dismount their horses, careful to tie them up close to the tree line, and start a fire.  Rufus is chivalrous enough to pitch the small tent they have for Lucy and Amy, as the rest of them gather around the fire.  Karl sends two soldiers to try and hunt something for their supper, and another four to scout the area. 

Rufus joins the ladies by the fire once he’s set up their tent.  Silence resonates between them, as they clamor for warmth.  Winter is arriving fast, as the fall crispness turns to a chilling bite.  Amy hugs Lucy closely, as she shivers from the cold. 

“So…,” Amy states, as she leans closer to her sister, “What exactly is the deal with you and tall, dark and kingly?”

“What?  What do you mean?”

“Oh, come on Lucy.  I know you think I’m still just some naïve little girl, but I’m not.  That whole flirtatious banter thing the two of you have going on means _something_.”

“Ames, it’s _so_ not like that.  The two of us can barely stand to be in the same room together.”

Rufus scoffs, then tries to cover it up with a cough, as he turns his head in the opposite direction.  Amy’s eyes widen with delight.  Amy gives her sister a playful shove, as her and Rufus lock eyes. 

“It is _so_ like that,” Rufus mocks.

“Rufus!”

“What?  You two can try to deny it all you want.  It’s blatantly obvious to everyone with eyes, except the two of you apparently,” Rufus states.

“He hates me.  All he’s done is insult and endanger me.  He doesn’t have romantic feelings for me, of that I’m positive,” Lucy asserts.

Rufus just shakes his head in frustration. 

“Luce, I knew when I first met him all those years ago that he had romantic feelings for you,” Amy announces.

“No he didn’t.  I don’t even remember him from that feast.  If he did, he would’ve asked me to dance at the very least.”

Amy rolls her eyes and smacks her hand to her forehead. 

“I’m pretty sure he wanted to ask you to dance.  I remember him strolling over towards us, but you decided to dance with the idiot over there instead,” Amy explains as she points to Wyatt. 

“Why do you think he asked me to dance?  You think a handsome, grown man in his prime wants to dance with a little girl?  Come on, Lucy.  You’re smarter than that.”

“Oh, no wonder he’s that bad.  He must’ve been pining over you for years,” Rufus notes.

Rufus and Amy’s words are shocking to say the least.  _Could it really be true?  Amy and Rufus seem to think so.  But even if it is, he’s engaged!_

“It doesn’t matter anyway.  He’s engaged to be married,” Lucy states dismissively.

Rufus coughs again and takes a sip of his ale.  “Lucy, I _guarantee_ that if you agree to marry the king, he’ll ship Lady Jeniah back to Scapa so fast your head will spin.”

Lucy has never been more thankful that Wyatt and Karl have rejoined them around the fire, and she hopes that the topic of her crush on the king will cease to continue.  The soldiers tasked with scrounging up their supper return with two measly rabbits.  Lucy supposes it’s better than nothing.  They did bring some supplies with them, but since they need to move quickly and cannot afford to be weighed down, those supplies consist mostly of jerky and bread. 

After they sup, the soldiers take turns scouting the perimeter, as the others try to get a few hours of sleep while they can.  Everyone seems to be on edge, the smallest hoot of an owl spooking them into a state of panic.  Everyone, that is, except Lucy.  For some strange reason, she feels less anxious than she has since she left her home so long ago.  Perhaps it’s the cold northern air, but she feels as if she can breathe freely again.  The slivers of her soul and heart have begun to mend, part of some silent acknowledgement she is exactly where she needs and is supposed to be.  The old gods feel particularly strong tonight, and it’s legitimately the first time in a long, long while she palpably perceives their presence.

A wolf howls in the distance, and both Rufus and Wyatt resemble the appearance of prey running for its life from the predator.  It doesn’t seem to faze Karl at all, and Lucy and Amy barely even flinch a muscle.

“Was that what I think it was?” Rufus questions, as his eyes bug out.

“If you’re thinking it’s a wolf, you’d be correct,” Amy retorts with a little laugh.

“Nothing to worry about boys,” Lucy teases.  “They’re miles away.”

“And, you know this, _how?”_

“Because I’ve lived here all my life.  Also, because we’re still south of Rittenfell and they don’t generally venture this far south,” Lucy explains.

Her explanation seems to satisfy Wyatt, and he goes back to conversing with Karl.  Rufus, on the other hand, is still on edge, and Lucy suspects his high alert status will remain until they are once again behind stone walls.  Amy reaches into her saddle bag, removes a bound leather book and hands it to her.

“I found this in the crypts.  It’s _quite_ an interesting read.  Thought you might want to peruse it.”

“What is it?” Lucy questions, as she takes the book from her sister’s hand.

“Your namesake’s journal.”

Lucy carefully opens the dust-covered book and thumbs through it.  She has always found her namesake to be fascinating, and now she can peruse the woman’s thoughts in her own words. 

“Wow.  This-this is really something, Ames.”

“Tell me about it.  There’s some juicy stuff in there.  For instance, did you know that Princess Lucy had a thing for the King Stiv?” Amy asks with a twinkle in her eye.

“What?”

“I know, it’s nuts.  Speaking of nuts, I think she _went_ nuts towards the end.  The back couple pages of the journal are a bunch of gibberish.”

Lucy flips to the back of the book and inspects the pages Amy was referring to.  At first glance, a great deal of it appears to be just that: gibberish.  As she looks closer, she recognizes some of the symbols and a few lines of script on the page.  The symbols are similar to ancient carvings across the continent.  Many theories have been espoused over the years as to their exact meaning, but no one quite knows for sure.  Lucy is positive the script is a dialect of ancient Aurelian.  She’s seen it before in the oldest parts of the library at Rittenfell.  She cannot read it, but she at least knows it is most definitely not gibberish.

“Some of this is written in Aurelian,” Lucy advises.

“Seriously?  It’s not just the rantings of a crazy woman?”

“Did anyone bother to read the dates of these entries?  You don’t go mad in a few days time without seeing some type of mental decline.  There isn’t any here.  It’s full on coherent speech and then some gibberish and then Aurelian.  I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“Keep it.  I read all the good parts anyway,” Amy states with a wave of her hand.

 


	22. Rittenfell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team enters the Rittenfell tunnels. Flynn and Noah have a parley. Jessica discovers some crucial information. The battle begins.

They leave the horses behind at the camp the next morning.  They’ll attract too much attention and make too much noise unless they’re on foot.  The terrain is hard to maneuver through stealthily, and their bulkier clothing is not helping matters either.  It was either put on the furs or freeze to death, though.  Although it is still fall, it’s already cold enough in the north that any self-respecting southerner would swear it was the dead of winter. 

Lucy and Amy seem to be handling it better than the rest of them, as the wind whips in their faces.  They silently weave their way through the forest, careful to not be seen by any House Preston scouts, until they reach the borders of Rittenfell proper.  The castle is still a little ways off, but they must wait for cover of darkness to inch any closer.  Lucy can see the central two towers of the castle, the sun’s rays reflecting off their green-topped turrets and limestone walls with a jewel-tone aura, as they stretch above the trees and kiss the clouds.  The rest of the castle is not visible from her vantage point, but she can still close her eyes and picture the circular stone keep, the six square towers along the outer wall, one of which, the chapel, has a semi-domed roof with tile that matches the turrets.  The castle itself is truly a magnificent site to behold, and one would expect nothing less from the house that royalty literally built.

As the dusky rays of twilight fall upon them, they break off into smaller groups.  They flit from tree to tree, bush to bush, slowly making their way towards the tunnel entrance.  The first group consists of Amy, Karl and two soldiers.  The second group, consists of Lucy, Wyatt and Rufus, and there is a third group that consists solely of the remaining soldiers in their party. 

Amy’s group makes it to the tunnel entrance, as Lucy’s group huddles nearby, waiting for them to pry the door open.  They manage to crack it open, and slip through the crack just in time to avoid two soldiers on patrol.  Once the soldiers pass, Lucy’s group sprints from the cover of the trees towards the entrance.  A few minutes later the third and final group does the same, and they light their torches and begin to make their way through the winding maze of tunnels.  Karl and Amy lead the way, and for the most part Amy’s memory serves her well, save for a few wrong turns into dead ends here and there. 

They finally make their way into the crypts and begin the slow ascent towards the surface.  They hold fast once they reach the tomb of Princess Lucy, and Karl ventures ahead on his own in order to scout their path.  Their timing must be perfect in order to pull this off, and they have to wait until the main army is assembled on the moors before they make their next move.  So, much to the chagrin of everyone, they’re going to have to hang tight in the dank, dirty, creepy crypts for a little while longer.

Flynn moves his army into position and sends word to Rittenfell that he requests a parley.  He needs to buy the other team time to make it into the tunnels.  The last rays of day come earlier now that the days are getting shorter.  He can’t wait any longer, but you don’t normally parley at night. 

Sir Connor, Denise, Jiya and five men accompany him, as they ride to a fixed point along the moor.  Riders approach from the castle, carrying the banners of House Preston and House Neville.  He needs to ascertain the measure of these men as best as he can.  He’s heard rumors and gossip, but none of them have first-hand knowledge of the other. 

Noah and Nicholas also arrive with a company of men, and the two sides go into staring contest mode for a few minutes.  Noah is younger than him, but he’s bigger and stronger.  The two men edge out slightly from the rest of their party, as Flynn dons his best and most ferocious scowl.  Noah seems unimpressed and he makes a mental note of it.  He may have to resort to a different tactic to gain an edge, but he can tell he has much more experience in war.  This gives him a decided advantage, and he plans on using any he can get.  Neither man dismounts their horse, as the staring contest continues.  Noah finally breaks away, if only momentarily, and when he turns back to Flynn, his steely demeanor twists into something more akin to concern. 

“Lady-Lady Lucy.  Is she still alive?” Noah asks with a shaky voice.

The revelation hits him smack in the face.  Noah’s just as in love with Lucy as he is.  She is both of their weaknesses, but his only saving grace is that Noah doesn’t know it. 

“Of course she is.  Unlike you, I don’t murder innocent women,” Flynn spits with the pent-up venom of over a decade.

“I would never!  I swear, if you hurt her…”

“Hurt her?  Why would I do that when I’ve _so_ enjoyed having her in my bed?”

He’s not _completely_ lying.  He has enjoyed sleeping in a bed with her, even though nothing untoward ever happened.  He’s definitely hit a nerve, as Noah’s face contorts, rage coursing through him.  He’s found his psychological edge over his enemy, and has distracted these idiots hopefully long enough to allow the others to make it to the tunnels. 

“I will kill you for taking her virtue!  You’re a dead man walking,” Noah yells, as his face turns red with rage.

“Technically, I’d be a dead man riding,” he deadpans.

“Tomorrow then.  We’ll see who has the power when all is said and done.”

Flynn smirks back at Noah.  Nicholas appears to want to get in on this conversation, but Noah raises his hand up to silence him.  They both ride away knowing that come dawn, the fight for control over this continent will begin. 

There is no rest for him this evening.  He should be sleeping, he’ll need all his strength for tomorrow, but his thoughts drift to Lucy.  He prays they have made it into the crypts.  They only need to remain hidden until the morning light, but the longer they are inside, the greater the chance of them being discovered. 

He walks alone along the edge of his camp, hoping the cold air will calm his nerves.  The wind has picked up considerably since earlier in the day, and he prays a storm isn’t on the horizon.  Unlike House Preston, his men are not used to fighting in snow.  He’s about to double back to his tent, when he gets the unmistakable feeling he’s being watched.  His eyes flash quickly around the darkness, and his ears perk up and listen.  He hears a scuffling in the bushes about twenty yards from him, and he pauses with his hand on the hilt of his sword.  Two rabbits come rushing out, and he shakes his head in embarrassment.  _Get it together.  You need your head on straight._

__

When Noah and Nicholas reenter the castle, Jessica and Emma can tell the king is shaken by something that took place during the parley.  Emma quirks her eyebrow at Nicholas, and he waves a hand at her indicating they’ll discuss this later.  Noah is fuming, pacing back and forth through the great hall, muttering to himself. 

“If anyone else tries to kill him, I’ll run my sword through them!  He’s mine.  I am going to make sure his death is as painful as possible after what he did to Lucy,” Noah rages, as he swipes two wine goblets off the table and onto the floor.

Jessica has regretted getting involved with Emma ever since she betrayed her and murdered her father.  She’s only here still to protect her brother, and the unborn child she carries, a byproduct of her wedding night.  She knows Wyatt can take care of himself, he always has, and she also knows he’ll never stop until he rescues her.  She just prays that rescue happens sooner rather than later at this point. 

Though she has never been as scholarly as her father, or even his favorite pupil, Jiya, she is versed enough in ancient texts that she realizes her father has only provided one of two spells Emma requires.  If she can manage to escape without divulging this information, she may be able to convince King Garcia to forgive her stupidity and betrayal.  It eats her alive that _she_ is the sole reason her father is dead, the reason he betrayed his sovereign and his oldest friend.  It is the only reason she still pretends to be going along with what Emma is up to.  If she can trade information for leniency…

She notices that even Emma seems to be on edge.  This actually worries her.  She’s never been through a battle before, which does trouble her.  Emma is always as calm as the ice water running through her veins.  If she’s worrying…

Emma informs Nicholas she is going to continue to research the spell Anthony gave her, as there is nothing more she can do while they prepare for battle.  She drags Jessica back to the library with her, forcing her to rummage through old dusty volumes buried in the furthest reaches.  Jessica does as Emma commands, though she’s really only half-looking.  Her thoughts drift to her husband.  _Will he be fighting on the field of battle tomorrow?  Will he live?  Is her brother there as well?_  

She has kept her pregnancy to herself so far, but if she is held here indefinitely, she won’t be able to keep it a secret for long.  _Would Emma hurt her baby?_   She really needs to get out of here.  Perhaps she could try to slip out during the battle, but she doubts it. 

Like her father, Jessica is one of the few that has been blessed with the ability to perform small bits of magic.  She wasn’t born with it like Jiya, but has learned a few things over the years.  She fondly remembers when Jiya came to study with her father, and the two girls would sit up late at night and perform small spells like blowing a candle out.  But, since she has been here, she feels its pull.  Rittenfell secretes magic like a squid squirts ink.  She’s not quite sure how she knows this, but the air has a palpable pulse to it, an unseen static electricity that will ignite if the slightest spark is struck.  _If she tries magic to escape, will it work?  Does she somehow have more access to its power in this ancient stronghold?_    

Her eyes are starting to cross, her lids are getting heavy, and sleep calls to her like a songbird in spring.  She haphazardly turns the page in the ancient book she’s pretending to peruse, when it hits her like a slap in the face.  There is text about an ancient door in the Timeless Mountains.  A door that the ancient peoples thought was best to shut forever, in order to entomb a beast they could not kill. 

On the opposite page, there is a crude drawling of the stone entryway.  Doric columns are carved into the sides, along with numerous symbols and circular drawings, most of which Jessica does not recognize.  There are a few basic ones she can decipher, but it appears to her that it’s some sort of elaborate spell.  One of the symbols she recognizes as the dragon’s eye.  It’s basically a triangle with the letter Y in the center.  She flashes back to the text without drawing Emma’s attention, and rereads the section again, hunting for clues she might have missed the first time around.  Sure enough, an understanding and an accompanying mental picture fill her head and she gasps. The dragon’s eye is not a metaphor, as it was used in later texts.  This was literal.  There’s a dragon behind that door.  A frost dragon to be specific.  If Emma unleashes this beast upon the continent…

Emma shoots her a questioning look, and Jessica quickly coughs to hide her discovery.

“Must be all this dust,” she states after feigning a few more coughs.

“It’s late anyway.  We’ll resume this tomorrow once the battle has been won,” Emma replies.

Jessica nods in assent, then closes the book and returns it to the shelf, making a mental note both of its location, name and page number.

__

Jiya wakes early the next morning with nerves of both steel and fear.  She has spent most of the night debating this decision, and as hard as it may be, she knows she’s doing the right thing.  She dons pants today instead of her usual red healer gown, and slips on a pair of high boots.  The moors are muddy and she cannot afford to be slowed down if she doesn’t have the appropriate footwear.  Plus, who wants to drag a dress through the mud?

She scrounges in her bag and pulls out a plain, walnut-colored, peasant shirt and shrugs it on.  She reaches into the bag once more and removes a matching gambeson.  Pitched battles are absolute chaos, and she’s not an idiot.  She needs more protection today than ever.  She pulls the gambeson over the shirt and laces up the front.  She pulls her hair out of her face, splashes some cold water on it from the basin, and sends for the Dunish Master at Arms.  It’s not an unusual occurrence by any means, as a healer will often consult with them prior to battle.  If the healer knows the type of weapons that will be used, they can often anticipate the types of injuries they’re sure to encounter and prepare for them better.

The Dunish Master of Arms appears at the entrance to her tent a few minutes later.

“My lady, shall I review the weaponry with you?  I assume this is why you summoned me.”

“Actually, it is not.  Fetch my armor, my bow and my sword,” Jiya commands.

“My lady?”

“That’s an order from the daughter of your liege lady.  You are still loyal to my mother, are you not?”

“Yes, my lady.  I will fetch it right away,” he answers, as he scurries out of the tent.

He is back faster than Jiya thought he would be, and assists her into the brown, leather jerkin.  Iron plates covered in the same brown leather are attached to her shoulders via clasps in the back of the jerkin.  The armor is beveled, the patterns resembling the feathers of the phoenix, her house sigil.  The last portion is her belt, and she wraps it around her waist as the Master of Arms hands her a sword.  Jiya gazes down at the weapon she holds in both hands.  It has been a long, long time since she last touched this sword.  Her sword is a typical iron weapon, with a curved pommel in the shape of a phoenix, as well as two phoenixes across the hilt.  She sheathes the sword into the scabbard, as the Master at Arms hands her a bow and quiver.  Her bow is not as ornate as her blade, though it does have the same beveled, feather pattern on the leather grip.  The quiver is much more decorative, with a gold, hand-stitched phoenix on the side.  She straps the bow and quiver over her shoulder, thanks the Master at Arms, and leaves the tent. 

As soon as she walks out, she spies her mother.  She takes a deep breath, and steadies herself for the conversation she is about to have.  Her mother ambles towards her, the king in tow as well.

“Jiya!  What in seven hells do you think you’re doing?” Denise asks.

“Getting ready for battle.  What?  I guess everyone else is allowed to fight for those they care about, but I can’t?”

“Jiya, you know the rules.  Healers can’t get involved in the wars of the realm.  If you fight, you will be giving up the right to wear that red robe,” her mother advises.

“I know.  This is not a decision I have come to lightly.”

Flynn only catches the tail end of their conversation, but interjects a statement Jiya isn’t prepared for.  “Maybe, that’s something I’ll have to change.  You shouldn’t have to choose between helping the wounded and inheriting your birthright.”

His comment stuns her momentarily, but she manages to squeak out a thank you nevertheless.  They are about to mount their horses for battle, when Jiya pulls a scroll from her belt and hands it to the king.

“What is this?  Another prophecy or yours?”

“No.  It’s the last scroll Anthony sent me.  He asked that I give this to you if and when we made it to Rittenfell.”

Flynn takes the scroll from her hand and unfurls it.

“Do you know what it says?  What language is this written in?” he asks with a look of confusion on his face.

“I have no idea.  The other scroll tucked in there indicates the scroll has been spelled, so that only the chosen one will be able to read it when the time comes.  It could be the only tool to stop the coming cataclysm we face.  Well, at least that’s what Anthony believed,” Jiya explains.

“Anthony believed I was some kind of chosen one.  I told him it’s not even remotely possible.  I’m no hero.”

“You are to Lucy,” Jiya reminds him, as she mounts her horse and smirks.

Denise mounts her horse as well, and the two Marri women ride off to meet the rest of the Dunish Army.

__

Flynn sits atop his horse, staring at the majestic green-topped turrets and towers in from of him.  The castle hasn’t changed much since he was last here.  He was young and single then, and Lucy was even younger at the time, but she was still just as beautiful.  If he’s being honest, she was probably his first real crush on a girl.  He still remembers the nervousness and butterflies of being in her vicinity, even though it took all night to get the nerve to ask her to dance.  If he’s being honest, it’s part of the reason he saved that last dance on Hardstone for her, since he never got the chance all those many years ago.

As much as he has trained to be a warrior for most of his youth, he did also receive a royal education, and the history of this moment is not lost on him.  Not two-hundred years ago, his ancestor stood on this very moor, staring at the same impregnable castle.  He chuckles to himself as he recalls a conversation he and Denise had about history always repeating itself.  He can only hope it does for his sake.

During the reign of Nicholas III, the last Ritten King, House Flynn rose up against the crown in rebellion, and led the insurgent forces on the field of battle. Eventually, after a long campaign, House Ritten found themselves under siege in their ancestral castle.  As their food stores and allies dwindled, the rebellious houses brought forth the might of their armies on the moor. 

House Ritten had three choices. They could retreat from the castle using the hidden tunnels and flee north; they could attempt a parley and sue for peace, effectively surrendering; or they could send forth their armies and fight.  This was the greatest house the continent had ever beheld, so there wasn’t really an option here.  They would not flee or surrender, they would fight.  They would defend their keep, honor and family, or die trying.  House Flynn lived up to their words that day.  Their victory over House Ritten took blood and brawn, and would forever enshrine them as one of the greatest houses in the realm.  It would also bring with it a crown. House Flynn’s liege lord and greatest warrior, Stiv, was crowned king shortly after the defeat of House Ritten.

House Flynn ruled the Kingdom of Ritten for the next two-hundred years.  Interestingly, they never changed the name of the kingdom, which some found completely abhorrent, but House Flynn felt that the history of the realm was important, and it was always a not-so-subtle reminder of what happens to houses who abuse their power.  They _become_ history.

He waits for his enemy with bated breath.  His men ride and stand behind him, as they finally see the armies of House Neville and House Preston.  They are led by King Noah and Lord Nicholas Preston, and Flynn feels his pulse quicken at the sight.  He has the numbers, but his enemy still holds a few advantages, including the high ground currently.  He needs to draw them onto the flat part of the moor, so patience is key right now.  The enemy rides with lightning speed towards them, and the first advantage has been neutralized in no time flat.

The second advantage, is the castle itself.  His team needs to infiltrate the enemy and gets the gates open.  If not, it won’t matter how many men he has.  His enemy will retreat back to the safety of its walls, and they’ll be slaughtered. 

The enemy is close now.  He does not need to say anything to his men.  He leads by example, not by giving inspiring speeches.  He pulls his sword from the scabbard and holds it high in the air.  His men follow suit and they charge their enemy.  Flynn fights in the vanguard.  Lady Denise leads her cavalry to his right, and Jiya and her special cavalry forces flank the left. 

His mercenary company rides at his back and sides, the most trusted of his men, and they clash into the enemy with the concussive force of an explosion.  He slashes and cleaves his way through the lines on his first pass.  As he turns his horse to make a second, he gets a front row seat to Jiya and the advanced Dunish cavalry in action.  They rise up on their saddle, one foot still firmly in the stirrup, while their knee balances delicately in the middle.  With bows in hand, they launch arrow after arrow at the enemy, all while using vocal commands and trust to control their steeds.  They strike their targets with a deadly precision, and instead of making a second pass, encircle a great number of the enemy’s men, essentially cutting them off from the main army.

Flynn makes his second pass, as the man to his left is sliced down from his horse.  The battle lines are blurring, as chaos erupts all around him.  He still has yet to encounter Noah or Nicholas, as the cowards hide behind their guards atop the high ground in the distance.  He catches sight of them on the hill, and gives into a blinding rage of bloodlust that crawls out of his deepest recesses.  He charges his horse towards them, but doesn’t make it more than a few feet before he takes a blow from a shield that knocks him clean off his mount.  He lands with a thud on his back and gasps for air.  He is completely vulnerable in a prone position like this, and feels the presence of someone behind him.  _That’s it. It’s over._

Instead, he is being yanked up on his feet.  He spins around to see Denise, who nods and then turns to engage the enemy once more.  The air is starting to feel normal in his lungs again, and he rejoins the fray a beat later.  He doesn’t know how long they’ve been fighting, but he hopes his men get the gates open soon.  They’re holding their own for now, but the status quo can change in an instant. 

__

Karl eventually makes his way back to the group and doles out orders to the accompanying soldiers.  Wyatt waits with bated breath for the only news he seems to care about; the whereabouts of his wife. 

“So, where is she?”

“I don’t know.  I couldn’t get up into the private quarters.  They’ve got most of their men on the battlements and the rest guarding the great hall.  We should be able to get to the gate easily,” Karl explains.

“Your _job_ was to scout the gate and find where they’re holding my wife!  What do you mean you couldn’t get up there?”

“Did I stutter, _Lord Logan_?”

Wyatt huffs angrily and turns away, as he mutters something to himself. 

“Was I supposed to magically change into a servant girl or boy on the spot?  We’ll find her.”

“I can get up there,” Amy blurts out.

“No!” Lucy exclaims.

“If Karl couldn’t, how in seven hells are you supposed to?” one of the soldiers laughs.

“Because, thanks to Lord Sunshine over here, I actually _do_ look like a boy,” Amy declares with a wave of her hand.

“I’ll go with her as far as I can, Lady Lucy,” Karl advises.

“No way!  I’m going,” Wyatt insists.

“You’re way too recognizable.  Tell you what, we let the men do their job and get the gate open, you go with Lucy and Rufus towards the great hall, and Amy and I will check the private quarters.  If she’s not up there, we’ll meet you guys back at the great hall.  Just stay out of sight.”

“Fine,” Wyatt concedes.

Lucy and Rufus glance at each other, both silently worrying this is a terrible idea.  Since no one else has a better one, they reluctantly agree.  The soldiers in charge of opening the gate will be their diversion, and they need to move at lightning speed before their enemy realizes what is happening.  They make their way through the crypts and to the entrance.  Lucy hugs Amy and tells her to be careful. She threatens to kill Karl if something happens to her baby sister. They all take a deep breath.  _It’s now or never._

 


	23. The Old Gods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flynn receives help from an unlikely source. Lucy leads the team inside the castle in search of Jessica.

Flynn keeps glancing back at the castle gates, as he dodges blades and arrows at every turn.  They should’ve had them open by now.  _Something is very, very wrong._   His men are winning this battle handedly, which is now a secondary concern.  He can’t exactly order his men to kill the enemy any slower.  He needs his team on the inside to come through. 

Suddenly, Flynn notices that Noah and Nicholas are retreating towards the castle gates.  A large chunk of their men follow suit.  He wrenches his head to check the gates again and breathes a sigh of relief as they open.  That relief only stays for a few moments, before the forces of House Neville and House Preston rush through the gates before they close once again.  His men inside will be slaughtered.  Lucy, will be slaughtered. _Lucy!_   Beautiful, kind, amazing Lucy.  She consumes his thoughts and his worst nightmare is repeating itself before his very eyes.  Without her, this is all for naught.  He loves her more than anything and will give anything to save her. All he can do at the moment is pray she is still alive and unhurt.  He mumbles his prayer at the beginning, dodging blades from every direction, before he begins to pray out loud.  He prays to the old gods to help Lucy.  They’re not his gods, never have been, but he prays to them anyway, since the new gods have never listened to his prayers before. 

He and his men are now the ones at a disadvantage.  Arrows rain down from the battlements overhead, one grazing his left thigh and the other his right clavicle. Blood and guts are caked in his hair, his face a crimson-stained hue.  Such cowards.  They ran from the fight like scared mice from a tomcat.  They need to either break through the castle gates or retreat further back.  If they retreat, he might as well retreat all the way back to the capital.  There’s no way he’ll be able to win this battle if he does that. 

His numbers are dwindling.  He can’t keep this up for much longer.  He doesn’t have enough men, food or time to siege the castle. Winter is coming and his men are southerners who do not know how to fight or survive in the blustery north.  If he retreats now, he’ll not only lose the battle, he’ll lose Lucy. That is a cost he is not willing to bear.  He also cares deeply for Rufus, even if he’s not the most demonstrative about it.  Amy is Lucy’s sister and anything that hurts Lucy is unacceptable, so losing her is as well.  Karl is his most trusted soldier, his brother-in-arms. He cannot afford for the enemy to get their hands on him.  Wyatt, on the other hand…  He _is_ Lorena’s brother.  That still counts for something in Flynn’s book, so he doesn’t want anything bad to happen, but Wyatt can take care of himself.  He’s always been really good at that anyway.

Suddenly, the silver skies darken to a pewter-toned hue, as a surge of rising winds cascade down from the north.  The arctic chill fills the air and a flurry of flakes flit and float onto the battlefield.  The wind howls with an animal ferocity, impairing and obscuring his vision to only a few feet in front of him.  A hibernal haze forms off on the northern hill.  For a fleeting moment Flynn thinks he can hear actual howling.  The winds whip again, slightly dissipating the haze, and a pack of wolves spring forth and charge towards the battlefield. 

The leader of the pack is an all-white wolf, its eyes a bright amber, its teeth bared in a predatory snarl.  It lunges at a Preston soldier, taking him clean off his horse to the ground before it buries its teeth into his throat.  The other wolves follow their leader and pounce on the enemy soldiers one by one.  They are steering clear of his men as if they are invisible to the beasts.  Flynn literally stands there watching, as if his boots are stuck in cement.  _Did the gods just answer his prayers?_  

He appreciates any help he can get, he really does, but unless these wolves brought a battering ram with them or intend to use their bodies as one, he still has no idea how he’s getting into the castle.  He could try to make for the tunnels, but as Amy explained, they’re a maze and there’s no guarantee he’ll find his way.  

A few minutes later, as they are in the process of completely decimating their enemies’ forces outside the castle, another gust of wind blows from the west.  A horn sounds a few seconds later and the thunderous thump of horses’ hooves echo across the moor.  The banners of House Bruhl contort in the current of icy air, the orange sun on the black field unmistakable even in these conditions.  Aevin, Anthony’s son, leads his men towards the battlefield, sword already drawn.  Flynn is again happy for the additional men, but still has the same issue he had five minutes ago.  Then he notices the wagons that House Bruhl’s men are dragging behind the cavalry.  Two carry trebuchets and the third carries the most beautiful site his eyes have beheld all day: a battering ram.

Aevin directs House Bruhl’s men to set up the trebuchets, as Flynn falls back from the front lines to get a word in with Anthony’s son. The trebuchets will help provide cover, as his men crash the gates with the battering ram. As Flynn and Aevin are discussing this, the wolves circle them, howling in a harmonious symphony. The wolves keep edging closer to the forest, then run back and repeat the process.  Flynn feels as if they’re almost beckoning him to follow, so he orders two of his soldiers to follow him.  Jiya appears fresh out of the fray and joins him as well.  They trot off into the forest, the wolves leading them in a circuitous route to the outskirts of the castle grounds.  He’s almost positive they just led him on a wild goose chase, until the white wolf stands in front of a pile of brush and howls.  Flynn moves tentatively towards the beast and the wolf scampers away as soon as he’s within a few feet.  He inspects the brush with the tip of his sword and finds that it’s actually the entrance to the tunnels.  He pushes the door open and the white wolf runs under his legs and leads him, Jiya and his men deeper into the crypts.

The soldiers are about halfway to the gate, when suddenly it opens and the army of their enemies pours through.  The rest of them still take the opportunity to make for the castle.  Rufus, Lucy and Wyatt slip in through the kitchen without notice.  Karl and Amy head in the opposite direction towards the chapel entrance.  The rest of their men are immediately killed.  Additionally, since they now know that their enemies somehow made it into the castle, they’ll definitely be checking to make sure there aren’t any others lurking about. 

Lucy leads the way through the kitchen and up the servants’ stairs.  Rufus is so close behind he’s practically clinging to her. Wyatt brings up the rear, watching their backs.  They make their way to the main floor of the castle.  The entrance to the great hall is only a small distance from them and Lucy peeks her head around the corner to check the corridor.  The castle is eerily quiet, save for a few scurrying servants here and there.  She doesn’t see any soldiers guarding the door to the hall, which she finds odd, but then again, they don’t exactly have men to spare with a battle raging outside.

_The battle._   It’s the first time it pops into her head and her thoughts immediately wander to the king’s safety.  _Please let the gods keep him safe._   After all they have been through, she finds it hard to imagine her life without him.  She previously hadn’t given much thought to what her future will hold after this war is over, but she knows she doesn’t want to be parted from him.  Even if he never feels the same, even if he marries another woman, she needs to be near him.  She could continue to be Kevin’s tutor and could even offer her services to any children he and Lady Jeniah may have one day.  Although, if she’s being honest, Jeniah will never let her do any of this.  She’s more likely to push her off a parapet to her death than allow her to be within any proximity of the king. 

She chuckles internally at how much things have changed for her in the last few months.  If you would’ve asked her where her loyalties lied then, she would’ve told you she hoped King Noah would rescue her from her hostage situation.  Now, she doesn’t wish any harm upon Noah, but her loyalties lie with the man she loves.  She can’t explain why she loves him, she just knows she does.

She breaks from her inner monologue, waves at Rufus and Wyatt that the coast is clear and sneaks her way down the corridor towards the great hall.  She places her ear to the door and listens.  She can hear the shuffling of feet, but no one is uttering a word.  She motions for the men to follow her further down the corridor to the next door.  Wyatt stares at her in confusion and she beckons him with a wave of his hand.  Reluctantly, he follows Lucy and Rufus down the corridor and into the room.  It’s one of the antechambers to the great hall.  Lucy creeps up to the other door and listens.  The door is slightly ajar and she can plainly see her Aunt Emma and Jessica.  She nods her head at Wyatt and he lets out the breath he’d been holding in. 

Lucy backs away from the door and Wyatt takes point.  Before they can discuss any sort of plan, Wyatt bulldozes the door open and charges into the room.  Emma turns around to see what the commotion is and Wyatt freezes in place.  Emma has a knife to Jessica’s throat. 

“Move another step and I’ll make you a widower,” Emma promises.

Lucy and Rufus appear behind Wyatt with their hands in the air, as House Whitmore soldiers surround them.  The soldiers push them forward until they’re all in a line.  Lucy glances over to Wyatt, her eyes wide and pupils blown.  _This is so not good._  

“Well, looky here.  Hello, Princess.  Nice of you to join the party.”

“Go to hell, Emma!” Lucy screams.

“I’ll deal with you after I deal with this disgraced knight.  So, Sir Wyatt Logan, what is your wife and your unborn child’s life worth to you?”

Jessica’s face fills with panic.  “You know about the baby?”

“I do.  Did you really think you could keep it from me?” Emma laughs.

“Tell me what you want Emma?  Money?  Jewels?” Wyatt demands.

“There’s only one thing you have that I can’t buy myself,” Emma replies.

“What?  Whatever it is, it’s yours.  Just don’t hurt her or the baby.”

He’s begging at this point and Lucy notices how much her evil aunt seems to be enjoying herself.  Emma nods her head and the next thing Lucy knows Wyatt is holding her from behind, his dagger at her throat.

“I’m sorry, Lucy,” he mumbles.

She cannot believe what is happening right now.  Never in her wildest dreams could she imagine Wyatt selling her out like this.  _Is he bluffing?  He must be bluffing._

“Go ahead.  Slit her throat.  You’ll be doing me a favor,” Emma states with a slight chuckle.

Emma is calling his bluff, (if it was ever a bluff to begin with).  Terror tides through her entire body.  After everything she’s survived and endured, this is how her ridiculous life is going to end: at the hand of a friend. 

A second later, the large, mahogany doors of the great hall burst open and Nicholas and Noah come strolling through.  Noah gasps audibly when he sees Lucy.

“Lay a hand on her Lord Logan and I promise you will live to regret it,” Noah warns, as he draws his sword.

Everyone is frozen in place, cautious of their every breath and movement.  They’re at an impasse, no one daring to ignite this powder keg for fear it will blow up in their own face.  Suddenly, the door to the antechamber on the other side opens and Amy and Karl are ushered into the great hall with swords at their backs. 

“Lord Logan, I swear I will not hurt Jessica.  Please don’t hurt the future queen.  We can all still get what we want out of this and you can walk away,” Emma pleads.

Lucy and Jessica exchange a look of confusion.  Then Lucy realizes what Emma’s up to and frantically tries to conjure a way to counteract it.  She can’t agree to this swap, since Emma will most likely kill her anyway, despite King Noah’s wishes.  She only has one play and she has to make it now.

The wolves sprint through the twists and turns of the crypts with the precision of threading a needle.  Flynn, Jiya and the soldiers are having trouble keeping up pace with them.  He cannot understand how the beasts seem to know the way, but they lead them all the way to the crypts’ entrance.  They’re in the castle now and must figure out where Lucy and the others are.  Flynn can hear the battering ram pounding into the castle gate, the wood creaking and groaning as it strains to hold together.  House Bruhl will be through there in a matter of minutes.  But, they cannot afford to wait.  The white wolf howls at them from outside the kitchen.  Flynn glances over at Jiya and she nods in response.  They both have people they cannot bear to lose in there and they will fight together to protect them. 

The wolf follows Lucy’s scent up the servants’ stairs and down the corridor towards the great hall.  As soon as they reach the corridor, they can hear shouting coming from the hall. 

“Lay a hand on her Lord Logan and I promise you will live to regret it,” they hear Noah state.

It is not an absolute certainty whom Noah is referring to, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out based on the panic in his voice.  He’s talking about Lucy.  Flynn recognizes this instantaneously and charges toward the great hall with reckless abandon.  Jiya scrambles to follow him and flings herself into the hall a second later.

Noah, Nicholas and a few of their soldiers have rounded on them. They stare straight at him, Jiya and the few soldiers they’ve brought with them through the tunnels.  The wolf has disappeared completely, almost as if it had never really been there in the first place.  Flynn meets eyes with Rufus and can feel the terror he has for himself and Lucy.  He’s fuming as he glares at Wyatt.  This betrayal cuts deep.  For once, he’s not trying to hide how he feels.  He wants to strangle Wyatt with his bare hands, but only once he is positive Lucy is safe.  It’s all he cares about.  His mind flashes back to Jiya’s warning to him.  If only she had foreseen who the betrayals would come from, if only…

“Noah.  Noah listen to me,” Lucy rasps.  “Let Jessica go and I’ll come willingly.  But, not to Emma, only to you.  I only trust you.”

Noah’s expression softens at Lucy’s plea.  He steps a few feet towards her, until Wyatt steps back and tightens his grip around Lucy’s waist. 

“I’ll agree to that if you do,” Wyatt declares.

Noah nods his head in agreement.  He keeps one eye trained on Jiya and Flynn and the other on Lucy and Wyatt.  There is so much tension in this large hall it’s as if it is the size of a small closet.  Everyone distrusts everyone, except for a select few.  Noah orders Emma to hand Jessica over to him.  Emma reluctantly agrees after a stern look from Nicholas.  Noah holds his hand out towards them and Emma lowers her blade and shoves Jessica in his direction. 

“Just so we’re clear, I never had any intention of hurting Lady Logan,” Noah declares.

“On the count of three…”

Lucy glances in his and Jiya’s direction, with a pleading expression to just let this play out.  Flynn appears to be visibly uncomfortable with this idea.  This is too close to the devastation he suffered all those years ago with his family.

“One. Two. Three.”

Noah nudges Jessica towards Wyatt and Wyatt pushes Lucy towards Noah.  The two women exchange worrying glances as they meet in the middle of the floor of the hall.  Once they pass each other, Jessica sprints into Wyatt’s arms.  Lucy is only a few paces from Noah, when Flynn stretches out his hand and yells out to her, “Lucy, don’t!”

Noah snaps his head towards Flynn, glaring daggers of death at him.

“You will never touch her again!” Noah declares.

“I’m pretty sure that’s up to Lucy.  Why don’t we ask her what she wants to do?”

“You truly believe an honest, high-born lady would side with her rapist?” Noah asks incredulously.

Lucy stops dead in her tracks, as her head whips back and forth between Flynn and Noah. 

“My _what_?” she mutters in horror.

Noah leans forward and snatches Lucy’s hand.  He pulls her to him, then steps in front of her, as Flynn draws his sword.  Noah draws his sword in response.  One of House Neville’s soldiers grabs Lucy and pulls her to the side of the hall.  Wyatt instructs Rufus to take Jessica and leave, as he unsheathes his sword. 

“I’m not leaving,” Rufus replies defiantly, as he glances over at Jiya.

“Rufus, get out of here!” Jiya screeches.

No one is moving at all, until Nicholas draws his sword and Jiya follows suit.  Noah’s men still have hold of Lucy, as well as Amy and Karl at the far end of the hall.  They are outnumbered and Flynn can’t even be sure if Wyatt is on their side or not after the stunt he just pulled. 

Noah breaks the détente and lunges at Flynn, who deftly avoids the blow, as he counters with one of his own.  Wyatt charges at Nicholas, as Jiya battles a member of the king’s guard.  Rufus and Jessica hover towards the door to the antechamber, eyes flitting back and forth as they scan the combatants in the hall.  Jiya takes the soldier down easily, as another lets go of Amy and rushes at her.  Flynn and Noah are trading blows, none of them landing on their intended target.  Flynn is without a doubt stronger, but Noah is quicker.  Wyatt has landed one blow to Nicholas’ arm, but the wound is only superficial. 

Amy turns to face Karl and they exchange a look.  She stomps as hard as she can on the soldier’s foot, as Karl ducks down to avoid the blade.  The soldier raises his sword to attack Amy and Karl plunges his dagger into the soldier’s chest.  Karl draws his sword and joins the fray in the middle of the room, as additional soldiers pour through the far antechamber door. 

Suddenly, Emma grabs Lucy from the soldiers, an arm around her throat choking the life out of her.  Nicholas appears to be on the verge of losing his battle with Wyatt, and Flynn and Noah are still dancing the steel tango.  Emma pulls her dagger, slices Lucy across her forearm and then lets her go.  Lucy yells in pain, as she grabs her now bloody left arm.  Her scream distracts both Flynn and Noah, as each lands a blow on the other.  Flynn’s gorget absorbs most of the blow, but the force stings his collarbone and shoves him backwards.  Noah receives a slash to his side.  As he lifts his hand from the wound, his palm is covered in a scarlet stain.  Both men turn their attention to Lucy, but she is just standing to the side holding her arm.  Emma is nowhere in sight. 

Wyatt takes this opportune distraction to severely wound Nicholas in the thigh, causing him to fall to his knees.  Another soldier attacks Wyatt before he can finish Nicholas off though.  Noah and Flynn turn back to face each other, and it’s clear that Flynn’s strength gives him the advantage over a wounded Noah.  Flynn lands another blow to Noah’s left arm.  He now has the upper hand, as he drives him back towards the doors of the great hall. 

Suddenly, one of Noah’s soldiers breaks off from the group Karl and Jiya are battling and slices his sword clear across Flynn’s back.  He wasn’t expecting it.  He cries out in agony, as he stumbles to his knees.  Noah raises his sword at the soldier, seething with anger for interfering, but Jiya throws a dagger into the man’s back before Noah gets his chance.  Noah sees his opportunity to rid himself of Flynn for good.  Noah raises his sword in his direction, as Flynn staggers to get to his feet. 

As Noah is about to strike the fatal blow, Lucy lunges forth with all her might, bowling Flynn over onto the floor.  It takes him a second to register what just happened.  He turns back towards Noah just in time to witness a sword plunging through Lucy’s chest.  Noah has a horrified expression on his face as he withdraws his sword.  Lucy glances down at her chest, the blood spewing forth staining her dress a dark crimson.  She stumbles towards Flynn, her mouth open and gasping for air, then collapses in a heap onto the floor.

Flynn screams in anguish, as he vainly reaches for her with outstretched arms.  Amy shrieks from the opposite end of the hall.  Noah stands there, bloody sword in hand, in complete shock.  Flynn’s blood begins to boil, his rage blinding.  Despite the throbbing of his back wound, the wound piercing his heart is torture.  It is literally as if his heart is being ripped out of his chest cavity, bloody and battered, but still beating.  _Not Lucy!  Not again._ He musters the strength to pull his body weight up using his sword as a crutch.  He wobbles once he’s on his feet, but uses all his might to plunge his sword straight through Noah’s torso.  He withdraws his sword and Noah falls backwards to the ground dead.  Flynn collapses onto his knees, tears now streaming down his face, his body trembling.  He turns and crawls on all fours to Lucy’s lifeless body.  Flynn gathers her into his lap.  He rocks back and forth repeating her name over and over again.

Nicholas sees this as his opportunity to potentially escape and crawls towards the door to the antechamber.  He wobbles to his feet as he reaches the door jamb, only to be met by a dagger to his throat courtesy of Rufus.  Rufus holds it in place, until Wyatt takes hold of him and shoves him back into the room.  Unable to support his own weight, Nicholas’ body slams against the floor.  Jiya and Karl dispatch the last of the soldiers.  They all stand in place, some crying, some in disbelief, as they watch their king mourn their friend and sister.  He can feel their eyes upon him and he doesn’t care.  He failed Lucy, just like he failed Lorena and Iris.  The pain in his chest is unbearable, all-consuming and devastating.  He will not let her go, cannot let her go. 

He glances down at her pale as porcelain face, her beauty still untouched by the specter of death.  He never even got the chance to tell her how he feels, tell her how impassioned his love for her is, tell her she is all he ever wants or needs.  He may not have had the chance to tell her in life, but he certainly will in death.  _Maybe, by the grace of the gods she’ll hear him somehow._   Right now, he holds her close, one hand cradling the back of her head and the other around her back.  _He can’t let go, he can’t._

 


	24. The Breath of Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma plans her escape. Jiya tends to Flynn’s wounds. Lucy’s funeral begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, I didn't want to leave everyone hanging for that long. For you, mathgirl24. :-)

As Emma watches this little impromptu battle going on in the great hall, she begins to plan her escape.  She doesn’t need that idiot husband of hers anyway in order to bring her plan to fruition.  She only needs one more ingredient to enable her to perform the spell: king’s blood.  Unlike the rest of these “clever” men, she’s the only one so far who has remembered that when these spells and prophecies were written, there was only one family that had king’s blood: House Ritten.  House Ritten may be gone, but their direct descendants, House Preston, still carry the blood of the king, even if it’s been diluted some.

She glances over at Lucy, then turns and glances over at Amy.  Amy is further away, plus she always had a slight affinity towards the girl for being a bit of a wild child.  _Guess it’ll have to be the princess._   Her weak, spoiled, entitled niece.  _This will be like taking candy from a baby._

She grabs Lucy from the soldiers that are holding her, puts her in a choke hold, then slides a dagger from her sleeve and slices Lucy across her left arm.  She probably should’ve just slit her throat, but watching two grown men literally fighting to the death over her is semi-amusing. 

Amusement aside, she wipes Lucy’s blood from her dagger onto a handkerchief and then she bolts for one of four hidden panels in the great hall.  The panels lead to different places in the castle, though none of them connect directly with the crypts and escape tunnels.  Emma darts down the narrow hidden passage.  She follows it through its various twists and turns until it comes to a dead end.  Slowly, she feels along the wall until she finds the handle to the other panel.  She pulls it open, peeks her head through slightly, and finds it empties out into the chapel.

Thankfully, the chapel is empty, as there is only one way in and one way out of the rotunda.  She sneaks back into the hallway and out a side corridor that leads to the bailey.  Stealthily, she makes her way down to the stables.  She gathers as many as her soldiers as she can and rides out of the castle the moment the gates are breached by the battering ram.  House Bruhl is taken by surprise, and Emma and most of her men manage to escape on horseback courtesy of a path that leads into the northern foothills. 

She got what she came for.  She can easily regroup once she makes it back to her ancestral home of Crimson Rock.  It is a few days ride from Rittenfell and the weather is taking a turn for the worse though.  She needs to push through in case her enemies are in pursuit.  If she can make it to the border of The Tundra, she can take shelter among her people.  It’s one of the only benefits of living so far north.  Southerners don’t fare well since they don’t know the terrain, and are generally not equipped to deal with the various predators that roam the landscape.  If they are following her, she’ll know sooner rather than later.

The northern passages have a fresh blanket of snow covering them, but the path still appears to be passable.  She’s been riding for almost two hours straight and the horses need rest and water.  They’ll need to fill up at the various streams along the way, because the further north they get, the more scarce water will become. 

They’re in the middle of watering the horses, when they hear scurrying in the brush not far from the stream.  The horses are getting spooked.  Emma isn’t sure what’s causing it, since she can’t see anything.  Flurries start to fall as Emma orders her men to hurry up.  Suddenly, four wolves dart out of the brush and charge at them.  Emma and her men quickly mount their horses and take off on the path.  As they race up and down the hilly passage, more wolves join the hunt.  Eventually, they manage to outrun the pack and Emma breathes a sigh of relief.  It seems her journey home isn’t going to be an easy one.

Jiya scans the room to find the king and Amy holding Lucy’s body and crying over it. Wyatt and Rufus are putting Nicholas in chains, and Karl is standing around scratching his head not quite knowing what to do.  The king and Amy are in no position to make any decisions or give orders, so Jiya decides to take charge.  She orders Karl to take Nicholas to the dungeon, and as more of their soldiers make their way into the hall, she orders them to take Lord and Lady Logan to a secure room with guards posted at the door.

“What the hell, Jiya?” Wyatt gripes.

“Would you rather I have them escort you to the dungeons?  Do you really want me to ask His Grace what to do with you right now?” Jiya questions.

Wyatt glances over at the king, sobbing silently over Lucy’s body.  He turns back to Jiya and nods his head.  Wyatt shuts his trap and allows the men to peacefully escort Jessica and him to a room down the hall.  The king is badly wounded.  She needs to tend to it, but he is unreachable in this current state of grief.  Rufus tries to reach him as well, but neither he nor Amy will respond.  A soldier shows up and informs her that her mother has been wounded, and Jiya leaves Rufus in charge as she sprints to help.  

When she returns a while later with her mother in tow, she finds Connor bending beside the king giving it his best shot.  Somehow, he’s able to get through to Amy, and it’s her that finally manages to convince the king to let go of her sister.  The household servants wander into the hall and take Lucy’s body away to prepare for burial.

Jiya convinces the king to allow her to treat his wounds.  She has never seen him so despondent before, only muttering in incoherent grunts.  The wound is deep, but he will only allow her to clean it and sew it shut.  Jiya begrudgingly complies.  Once she finishes, he puts on a clean shirt and turns to face her.  His eyes are blood-shot and puffy, his face gaunt. 

“Where’s Lucy?” he asks with a look of confusion.

Jiya’s heart breaks.  Reality has been torn asunder for this broken, shattered shell of a man before her.  She’s not sure if she should tell him the truth, if she’s even capable of watching him fracture all over again.  She also knows deep down that she has to tell him.  They need him.  They need their king.

“In the crypt, Your Grace.  I have their assurances they will inform us when it’s time for the funeral.”

He still appears to be confused.  She is grieving her friend as well, and really wishes she hadn’t sent her mother back to The Dunes.  Perhaps she might be able to get through to him.  Yet, her mother needs rest in order to heal.  Jiya knows she will never do that if she stays in Rittenfell, so she insisted she be escorted home.  The only person the king connects with now is Amy, bonding over a shared, all-consuming grief.

Rufus and Sir Connor shuck off the rest of his blood-stained clothes.  He just allows them to do what they need to.  Jiya knows he’s in pain from the wound on his back, yet he still refuses any type of elixir or balm.  She feels helpless, like she’s watching someone sleepwalk though awake.  Sir Connor informs the king that Sir Wyatt and Jessica would like to attend Lucy’s funeral and he doesn’t answer.  Nothing is registering.  Amy, now Lady of Rittenfell, forbids them from attending the funeral, still fuming with rage for the part Wyatt played in her sister’s death.  Jiya cannot blame her for the way she feels, but she understands why he did what he did.  She wouldn’t have understood before, but now-now she has Rufus.  She knows what love can drive a person to do. 

His brain is in a continual fog, his senses dulled into a state of paralysis.  He knows none of them understand the crushing weight upon his soul, the world caving in around him, the utter despair and agony Lucy’s loss creates.  His reason for being is gone and he does not want to fight any longer.  All he wants is to give in to the darkness, let death come and claim him.  Yet, he is afraid even then he will be separated from Lucy, him in darkness and her in light, for he has done terrible things and she is good to the core. 

Amy clutches onto his forearm as they descend into the crypts.  He is leaning on her as much as she is leaning on him.  The throbbing pain from his back wound is troubling as well, and causes him to move at a slower pace than normal.  It seems cruel to him to bury Lucy in such a gloomy, somber place.  Lucy means light, after all, but the only light down here comes from the too few candles on tombs of old.  She deserves to be buried under a sun-lit meadow, with blooming wildflowers and a babbling brook. 

“Lucy did not have a tomb already, as my father assumed we would be buried with our future husbands.  The tombs are usually reserved for the Lords of Rittenfell only.  But, my sister deserves this honor.  I don’t care if the gods curse me for it or not,” Amy declares.

He nods his head in agreement, even though it’s not what he truly believes.  The tomb is cut from a light gray marble and is devoid of any decorative etching or engraving.  Lucy deserves the best of the best.  Perhaps, he can have another one made for her. 

He has not seen her since they pried her cold body from his hands, and he longs to hold her one more time. When he sees her lying there, it almost doesn’t feel or seem real.  She is still as beautiful as ever, her eyes closed as she peacefully dreams; an angel among the rest of the mere mortals.  Her dress is a white silk with a sweetheart neckline.  Her belt and shoulder clasps are a golden, open-metalwork design with wolves on it, and her necklace is a gold hand with an all-seeing eye.  Amy explains she chose to have the sigils of both House Preston and House Ritten represented.  He almost wants to throw something with his sigil into the tomb, but he feels that would be too presumptuous, almost as if he’s claiming her in death somehow.  She has a single white camellia in her raven hair. Blue periwinkles and white and purple crocuses surrounding her entire body.  His knees buckle when he gets closer and Amy tugs on his forearm to steady him once again. 

The candles and lanterns along the wall are lit.  Jiya prepares to give Lucy a proper northern burial, since they don’t have a priest or priestess of the old religion at hand (since Nicholas killed the previous occupant of the chapel a few months ago).  Amy clings to him like a barnacle, both supporting the other through this final goodbye.  Rufus is the most visibly upset at the moment, which surprises him.

Suddenly, Rufus turns to Jiya with a semi-hopeful expression on his face.

“Is there-is there something you can do-some spell to…”

Flynn’s ears perk up at this and he glances over at Jiya with pleading eyes.

“If there’s anything-anything at all.  Please, Jiya, please.”

“I don’t-I don’t have that kind of power,” Jiya responds.

Rufus peers down at his feet in dejection, but Flynn’s mind is working overtime trying to come up with a solution.

“I don’t have power either…but somehow my prayers to the old gods came true.  They sent the wolves and Aevin to help us.  You said it yourself that magic is strong here.”

“It is.  It’s the strongest I’ve ever felt.  But, to raise the dead…”

“Do you know any spells to do it?” Flynn asks again.

“I know of a spell, but I-”

“Just do it.  What do you need?  It can’t hurt to try, right?” he asks with desperation.

“I can try, but…”

“But, what?”

“Only death can pay for life, Your Grace,” Jiya explains.

The room goes silent after Jiya’s statement. 

“Take me,” Flynn offers.

“Your Grace, no!” Sir Connor exclaims.

“I cannot, Your Grace,” Jiya replies steadfastly.

“What about someone else?” Amy questions.

They all turn to look at her with horror that she would suggest such a thing.

“Oh, not me!  I’m sure my awful uncle will be happy to volunteer,” Amy proposes.

“I’m gonna kill him one way or another,” Flynn states with a shrug.

Jiya agrees to try the spell, but makes no promises.

“What do you need?”

“Bone, blood and ash,” Jiya answers.

An hour later, the entire party, castle servants and remaining soldiers gather in the courtyard.  Amy even allows Wyatt and Jessica to attend.  Soldiers drag Nicholas up from the dungeons.  Flynn assumes Nicholas thinks the pyre is for Lucy’s funeral, but finds out quickly that he’s sadly mistaken.  The soldiers secure him to the stake at the base of the pyre, but leave one hand unbound.  He begs and pleads for his life, struggling to untie his binds with his one free hand.  Flynn ignores his cries, walks straight up to him and snatches his left hand.  Without saying a word, he cuts one of Nicholas’ fingers off and throws it into a bowl Jiya is holding.  With only one more ingredient to obtain, Flynn turns around and Sir Connor hands him the torch.  He’s about to light the pyre, when Amy snatches the torch from his hand.  She doesn’t even ask permission, but moves to light the first two corners of the pyre, as she taunts her uncle.

“What was it you said about me after you murdered my mother?  I’m gonna burn her like the little witch she is, was that it?”

“Amy, please!” Nicholas begs.

“Burn in all seven hells, _uncle_.”

She lights the last two corners of the pyre and then hands the torch back to one of her soldiers.  She stands next to Flynn, a united front in avenging Lucy. Nicholas’ screams are horrifying.  The stench of burnt flesh fills the air, and he momentarily wonders if this is something a young lady like Amy should be witnessing.  He glances over at her.  She is stoic, but there is a small glint in her eye that finds this scene as satisfying as he does. 

He overhears Jiya mention to Rufus that this is another one of her visions that has come to pass.  She just wasn’t able to tell the identity of the individual burning in the courtyard before.  Maybe, it’s because he was the one it should have been.  Lucy pushed him out of the way and saved his life.  If she hadn’t, he wouldn’t be standing here right now. 

Once the fire has died down, Jiya collects some of Nicholas’ ashes and add them to the bowl.  The ingredients are pounded into a pulpy paste.  Jiya draws a triskelion with the paste onto Lucy’s forehead.  She requests Jessica leave the crypt, not wanting to be responsible for some unknown magic affecting her unborn child.  The remainder of them join hands, except for Jiya, who dips her hands into the bowl and grabs both of Lucy’s hands. 

**_“Enovare emina.  Anguis os inis.  Ortem ita.  Tmetunt eos picinium.  Renew this woman, from blood, bone and ash.  A death to pay for life, to reap the aftermath.”_ **

Jiya repeats this over and over again, thirteen times to be exact, each time the recitation growing more frantic.  She finishes the thirteenth recitation and releases Lucy’s hands.  All of a sudden, the ground begins to rumble from deep down in the crypts. They hear a cracking and crashing sound from the lower levels.  A huge gust of air blows up from down below, taking the candles and lanterns out with ease.  The room is pitch black, the air feels heavy and it’s becoming hard to breathe.  It smells like a combination of salty air and smoke, and they all start to choke and gag.  Then, it disappears as fast as it came.  The candles and torches spontaneously combust.  They all look around at each other searching for answers as to what is happening.  No one seems to have a clue. Mostly, they are looking to Jiya. 

“I have never felt anything like that before,” Jiya explains.

Their eyes all seek out Lucy, waiting for the magic to kick in.  Nothing is happening.  They wait for a little while, but it doesn’t appear to have worked.  Flynn and Amy are devastated.  Jiya is blaming herself for not doing it right, or not having enough strength or power in order to perform the spell. 

He needs to do something productive instead of just staring at Lucy’s lifeless body hoping beyond all hope she will somehow come back to him.  Flynn and Wyatt decide to go check out what that noise was from down below.  Level by level, they search deeper and deeper into the darkness.  The cold is creeping into their bones as they make their way further down.  They check every level, but come up empty-handed.  They do not notice that the tomb of Lucy’s namesake now has a crack down the back half.  It’s dark, they can barely see beyond their own breath and the crack looks to be just another seam in the marble of the tomb.  Finding nothing, the two of them return to the rest of the group.  Lucy is still motionless in her sarcophagus.  One by one, they say their goodbyes to Lucy, until it is only Flynn and Amy left. 

“May I have a moment alone, my lady?”

Amy nods and moves further down the crypt to pay her respects to her grandfather, Ethan.  The second she is out of sight, Flynn falls to his knees and cries over Lucy.  He takes her scarlet-stained hands in his, the bloody paste still visible from where Jiya held on.

“I don’t know if you can hear me in heaven, Lucy.  I’m so sorry for what I’ve done.  I put the one thing I could not bear to lose in danger repeatedly: you.  You might not have known this, it’s not like I gave you much reason to, but I love you.  I love you more than anything with all my heart.  I would’ve given up the throne, my quest for vengeance, anything I had to in order to make you happy.  I need you, Lucy.  My life has no meaning without you.  I don’t know if I can do this.  But, I will promise you one thing, because I’m sure it’s something you would’ve wanted.  I will protect Amy and make sure she is safe.  I will not fail her.”

He bends down and presses a kiss to her icy blue lips.  He hears Amy’s footsteps coming back down the corridor and offers her his arm once she reaches him.  They make their way back up to the great hall, where the soldiers celebrate their victory and mourn the dead.  Flynn does not eat much at all, but instead drowns his sorrows in ale. 

All of a sudden, wolves begin to howl repeatedly in the distance.  They can all hear it over the merriment and drinking in the hall.  Jiya looks outside and sees that the blood moon of the previous evening has disappeared completely and a flower moon has taken its place.  Flynn notices her confusion and questions her about what she’s seeing.

“A flower moon.  I didn’t think it was possible since it’s almost winter.  A wolf or snow moon maybe.  Also, wolves don’t typically howl like that at a flower moon,” Jiya advises.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he answers.

“Something is off.  It’s almost as if the magic in this place has doubled overnight, like there’s a palpable pulse of electricity in the air.  Something is going on, but I don’t know what it is.”

The wolves sound like they’re getting closer.  Flynn and Jiya both stare out the window to the courtyard below.  The next thing they know, the wolves surround Rittenfell.  They’re howling like rabid beasts, but not trying to enter the castle.  This draws everyone’s attention and they empty out of the great hall into the bailey.  Jiya remembers her vision.  Another part has now come true, but she still doesn’t know what it means.

The wolves begin their entry en masse into the castle.  Flynn and Wyatt unsheathe their swords and Jiya yells at them to stop.  The wolves are not attacking, not growling or being aggressive in any way, just howling.  The move effortlessly through the bailey and stop just before they hit the entrance to the crypts.

Lucy wakes with gasping breath.  Panic sets in as she takes in her surroundings.  She remembers dying and she finds it baffling that she’s somehow alive.  She looks around, realizes where she is, and hears the incessant howling of wolves coming from above.  She climbs out of her sarcophagus, her feet hitting the cold, damp stones of the crypts with her bare feet.  She shivers from the cold, only wearing an almost shear, silk gown.  Her legs are unsteady and she feels like a newborn fawn learning how to walk for the first time.  She feels something wet and sticky on her forehead and her hands.  She gazes down at her hands and finds them covered in some weird muddy, maroon-colored paste.  She pulls up the hem of her dress and wipes the paste off of her hands and forehead as best she can.  She knows she didn’t get it all off, but at least she doesn’t have that weird sticky feeling any longer.   

She takes a candle from the wall to light her way.  Her legs are still unsteady as she climbs through the dark and empty crypts.  When she exits the crypts, the howling stops and everyone turns and stares at her.  Flynn is frozen with shock, Amy faints into Rufus’ arms and Sir Connor takes a huge gulp from his wine goblet.  Jiya smiles back at her in wonderment.  Lucy is still confused about how in seven hells she’s here, in addition to why and _how_ someone brought her back to life.  Then, she notices the wolves.  The wolves tilt their heads in unison at her and then sit like well-trained sled dogs.  She hesitantly walks passed the first few wolves towards her loved ones.  As she passes them, the wolves stand, turn and surround her in a protective circle.  Rufus tries to approach her and the wolves bear their teeth and growl.  He backs off.

Jiya steps forward and says something, again in a language no one else understands, and the wolves allow her to pass.  She grabs Lucy and hugs her tightly.  Lucy groans in pain from the wound in her chest.

“I remember Noah stabbing me.  How is this possible?” Lucy asks with wide eyes.

“I did a resurrection spell.  By some miracle, it actually worked,” Jiya exclaims, as she hugs her again and kisses her on the cheek.

“This isn’t right,” Lucy answers, as she shakes her head.  “I’m not supposed to be here.”

Amy regains consciousness and Rufus helps her to her feet, keeping hold of her arm as she approaches Lucy.  The wolves growl again at Rufus only. 

“Okay then, you don’t like men.  I get it,” Rufus mutters, as he lets go of Amy’s arm. 

Amy runs to Lucy and slams into her, hugging her so tightly that Lucy cannot breathe.  She feels mostly like herself, but there is something else within her, some power from the ancient world that had been slumbering for a thousand years.  It’s awake and is now inhabiting her body with her.  Lucy then turns to look at Flynn. 

“Your Grace,” she states with a curtsy.

Flynn opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.  Lucy then gets an awful pain where she was stabbed and doubles over, eventually falling all the way to her knees. 

“Jiya!  Jiya, something’s wrong!” Lucy yells in a panic.  “Please-please help me!”

Jiya bends to help her back up.  Once she’s on her feet, Lucy raises her head to look back at Jiya and something startles her.  She jumps back from Lucy in fear.

“Lucy, your eyes.  They’re blue,” Jiya states.

There is no response and Jiya grabs ahold of her and shakes her.

“Lucy!”

“Not Lucy,” another voice replies.

 


	25. The Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flynn finds out what happened to Lucy. Amy receives some shocking news. Lucy receives a proposition. Feelings and intentions are made clear between Lucy and Flynn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter you've all been waiting for!  
> Warning for adult content (not enough that I thought I had to change the story's rating though).

He has finally lost it.  His mind is broken, stuck in some repetitive loop of the past.  He is staring right at her, but it _cannot_ be possible.  Jiya’s spell didn’t work.  Yet, somehow, Lucy is alive.  He’s frozen in place, his entire system sent into a type of neurogenic shock.  She’s as beautiful as ever, and when their eyes meet, he’s positive his own heart does stop. 

The next thing he knows, she’s curtsying in front of him and acknowledging him as her sovereign.  His mouth opens in surprise, about to make some obnoxious quip that it took her long enough, but nothing comes out.  He still cannot believe she’s among the living. 

Reality snaps back in when she falls to her knees and writhes in pain.  He’s about to run to help her, when Jiya assists her to her feet.  When she raises her head, her eyes glow an arctic blue.  _He’s definitely hallucinating now.  None of this is real.  Just close your eyes, count to ten and it’ll all be gone_. 

When he opens his eyes, Lucy is still there and her eyes are still glowing.  Something is without a doubt wrong, because her eyes were her normal chocolate brown a few minutes ago.  Then her mouth opens, but the voice that speaks is _not_ Lucy’s. 

“My name is Sylbia.  I mean you no harm.”

“And, what about Lucy?” he manages to squeak out of his lips.

“I mean no harm to her either.  In fact, I’m very grateful to Lucy.  Her resurrection freed me from my prison of stone.”

“What-what are you?” Jiya questions.

“I’m a sylph.”

“A what?” he asks with impatience.

_As if everyone should know what that means._

“An elemental.  But…you don’t need Lucy’s body to survive, so why are you doing this?” Jiya inquires.

“I was imprisoned for a long time.  I don’t have the strength yet.  Plus, Lucy is weak.  Our co-habitation will be to our mutual advantage.  There is much to discuss and not much time to do so.”

The sylph bends down and whispers something into the white wolf’s ear.  The wolf tilts its head back at her and then the entire pack sprints towards the castle gate.  They are gone in a silvery blur a moment later. 

Everyone is still obviously leery about this _creature_ , but she convinces them to allow her to sit in the great hall and explain everything.  They really don’t have any other choice, they can’t chance that she’ll hurt Lucy.

“You’ve got exactly five seconds to explain what you are and what you want with Lucy,” he threatens.

“I see impatience runs in your family,” the sylph responds.

“You don’t know anything about my family!”

“Don’t I?  You are so like your ancestor, Stiv, it is truly uncanny,” the sylph answers, as she eyes him up and down.

“You knew my ancestor?”

“Yes.  I’ve been trapped in Princess Lucy’s body in that crypt since she died.  The princess had _quite_ a few dealings with him, so yes, I knew him.”

“Jiya, please explain what she is before I lose the last bit of composure I have,” he pleads.

“A sylph is an air elemental.  It forms it, lives in it and has power over it.  It is said they are guardians who protect secret knowledge.  They are born understanding the universe and the connections between all its parts, and they may know ways of manipulating those parts to cause specific effects.  The most impressive aspect of their intelligence is their supernatural foresight,” Jiya explains.

“So if you have supernatural foresight, how did you get trapped in Princess Lucy’s body?” he asks.

“Because the princess’ death was not preordained.  Her husband killed her on a whim.  He choked the life from her. When I woke from my unconsciousness, I was already entombed.  We are only capable of moving freely through the air.  We drown in water, burn in fire and become trapped in earth.”

“So, why Lucy?” he asks.

“We are drawn to those that use their minds.  I tried many times to get through to Lucy.  I even had some help from my little furry friends.  But, then she left and I could no longer feel her presence for a while.  It has to be Lucy.  She’s of the royal bloodline.  The Kings of Ritten are responsible for this imbalance of nature and magic.  A descendant of Ritten must be the one who stops it.  Lucy, is the last of the bloodline,” the sylph explains.

“What about me?” Amy questions.

The sylph sighs and puts her arms on Amy’s shoulders.  “You are not of the blood.  You share a mother, but do not have the same father.”

_“What?”_ Amy questions utterly confused.

“I do not know the particulars, but you are not of the blood,” the sylph echoes.

“I want to talk to Lucy,” he demands.

“Later.  I need to know if that vile, red-headed, demon woman unleashed the beast.”

“Not yet,” Jessica chimes in from across the table.  “She has the spell to open the door, but not the one to control it.  I found information in a book here that says it’s a frost dragon.”

“A frost dragon?” everyone repeats in unison.

“The woman is correct.  But the frost dragon is not the scourge.  The dragon needs to be freed, and the scourge needs to be killed.  It will be much easier if we can get to it while it’s still shackled to that tomb.  Once it’s released…”

“What?  What will happen?” Jiya questions.

“Hell on earth.”

“In what way?” he inquires with a still skeptical air.

“The world will freeze and burn until there is nothing left.”

The entire room stays silent, as they all glance around the table at each other.

“Jiya, I need to speak to you in private.  I need you to convey certain information to Lucy, and I will need your help if we have any hope of defeating this entity.”

Lucy is freaking out.  She is aware her mouth is moving and words are coming out, but they are not her own.  Her body is moving, yet she’s not the one doing it.  She’s a bystander in her own self, and she’s having trouble wrapping her head around it.  This being is powerful.  She can feel it coursing through her veins like a surge of electricity.  At first, she feels stronger, but the longer she’s a passenger in her own body, the more tired and worn down she gets. 

She hears the sylph tell Jiya she needs to convey a message to her, which really confuses Lucy because she can hear the sylph chattering about in her brain just fine.  _I know you can hear me, but I need them to think otherwise.  You need to trust me Lucy._

_Like she has a choice in all this._ This creature is co-existing within her, and she’s way out of her league in the realm of magic, so she’s pretty much along for the ride at this point.

She follows Jiya to her chamber and the two of them sit on her bed.

“We need to free the other elementals.  I would do it myself, but we’re pressed for time.  I will tell you what you need to know, but you’re the only other person who is strong enough to hold that much power inside themselves.  I will go and release the most powerful and difficult one and then we will need to meet back up here.  Do you think that’s something you can do?” the sylph asks.

“Have you discussed all this with Lucy?”

“That’s what I need you for.  If Lucy agrees to this, once the scourge is defeated, we will leave her body and you can all go about living your lives again.”

_Why does that not feel like the whole truth?_

_Shush, Lucy. We’ll talk about this later.  Right now, it’s about procuring help for you._

Jiya agrees to speak to Lucy and the sylph lowers her head.  When Lucy’s head rises again, her eyes are back to brown.

“Jiya!”

“Lucy, are you okay?”

“Yes-yes I think so.  I’m tired and weak, but she hasn’t hurt me.”

Jiya begins to explain to Lucy what the sylph wants from the both of them, as the sylph starts rambling inside her head again.

_You have always been striving for greatness.  Here’s your chance to be the greatest hero of all.  You have a choice to make, Lucy.  Will you sacrifice yourself for the world?  Do you love your sister and that king of yours enough to do that?  Or, will you let them perish alongside you and the rest of the humans?_  

Lucy listens as the sylph explains everything.  At the same time, the sylph cues her when to answer Jiya’s questions or nod back to her. 

_I’ll do it, but not for you.  I’m doing this for the people, all the people.  I only ask that you give me one last night, one last chance with…_

_With him?  Is that what you were going to say, Lucy?_   _I will allow you one night.  We leave at first light._

Once she’s back in control of her own body, Amy drops the bomb on her about them only being half-siblings.  After all Amy has been through recently, this seems to send her over the edge.  Lucy reaches out, but Amy jerks away from her.  It’s not the first person who has reacted that way.  In fact, everyone seems to be avoiding her, except Jiya.  The king’s avoidance hurts the most.  He’s the only reason she asked for one more night.  Since he appears to also be wary of her, she whispers in Jiya’s ear that she will meet her in the morning, and disappears down the corridor to her chamber.

They gather back in the great hall, because let’s be honest, soldiers don’t care about the drama of kings or elemental beings.  They have just won a great victory, after all, but he doesn’t feel like celebrating.  Lucy consumes his thoughts, as does his fear for her well-being.  He’s currently dealing with securing up the castle, receiving news from the capital, and making sure his men are behaving themselves somewhat.  When he turns back around and looks down the table, he notices Lucy’s absence.  He needs to talk to her, needs to tell her how he feels before some other calamity prevents it.  He’s already decided the sylph being inside her doesn’t matter to him.  He loves her, he lost her once already and he cannot bear it again.

He puts his mercenary skills to good use and slips out of the hall unnoticed.  He knows it won’t be long until someone comes looking for him, but he doesn’t care who knows.  He strolls down the corridor to Lucy’s room and hovers outside her door.  He paces back up the corridor halfway, then turns and goes back to her door.  His hand hesitates momentarily, but then it strikes the rich, mahogany wood with a light tap. 

The door opens a few seconds later.  Lucy stares back at him in bewilderment.  He knows it’s her, her beautiful brown eyes peering up at him.  She lets the door drift completely open, and he enters her chamber without uttering a word.  When Lucy doesn’t move back, he shuts the door himself, but does not lock it.  He doesn’t want her to feel as if he’s trapping her.  Movement in the corner startles him, as the white wolf stands and stretches its legs.  He plants his feet where he stands, as it circles him and then paws at the door.  Lucy steps forward and opens the door.  The wolf saunters out, but lays down at the threshold.  Lucy closes the door again, locks it, and then turns to him with a pleading look in her eye. 

He’s not quite sure what to say.  _How do you tell someone they’re your everything?_   _Can his heart survive if she doesn’t reciprocate his affections?_   _And, what’s the deal with this wolf?  He understands the sylph not being afraid of it, but Lucy’s treating it like a pet dog now._

She’s leaning up against the door, and it would be _so_ easy for him to pin her up against it.  His gaze flickers to her lips, as his own part slightly.  He wants nothing more than to kiss her right now, to taste the sugary sweetness of her honey lips.  He’s confident that if he does kiss her, he won’t ever want to stop, and he’s still unsure of her feelings towards him.  _What if she doesn’t want this, doesn’t want him?_  

They’re still staring at each other, stuck in that strange dance they’ve always done, that unconscious battle of wits to see which one will cave first.  To his utter surprise, Lucy takes a tentative step towards him.  He’s not sure if he should do the same or not.  Eventually, he’s going to have to say or do something, since he’s the one who came to _her_ chamber.  They both move in unison towards each other, and he crashes his lips onto hers in a flash.  Her lips are impossibly soft, and she presses closer to him as he deepens the kiss.  One arm grips her waist, the other cradles the nape of her neck, as his finger thread into her raven mane.  She is kissing him back with the same fervor and passion he’s bringing.  The kiss is better than he could have ever imagined (and he imagined kissing her _quite_ a lot).  He feels spellbound, as if an enchantment is bathing him in eternal sunlight after years of dwelling in darkness.  She pulls back, but only slightly, as their foreheads touch while they gasp for breath.

He doesn’t want to presume anything more, so he waits for her to make a move.  Her hands slide up his chest and around his neck, and she begins to fumble with the straps of his gorget.  He brings his hands up and covers hers, and then gently tugs them down.  Lucy gazes down at her feet, then snaps back up to meet his eyes as he unfastens the straps loudly.  She looks surprised, as if she took his prior action as some sort of rejection, which is the last thing he wants. 

Once he removes the gorget and tosses it aside, he grabs her waist and pulls her back to him.  His other hand comes up to cup her cheek and she leans into his touch.  She takes fistfuls of his tunic in both of her hands and pulls him down to her.  This time, Lucy initiates the kiss and it’s softer and slower, which makes it ten times more intimate.  Their lips part again, but he trails kisses down her neck, which elicits a delightful sigh from Lucy.  He doesn’t want to pressure her into anything she may regret, but he wants her more than anything, and it’s literally getting harder and harder to resist.  Lucy’s hands slide down his chest and begin to unlace his tunic.  He’s afraid to touch her more than he already is, not because he thinks she’s some fragile flower, but because he wants to respect her wishes. 

Once she unlaces his tunic and presses her soft hands to his bare chest, he closes his eyes and basks in her warmth.  _He must be dreaming.  There is no way this is actually happening._   He’s wanted this for so long, dreamt and fantasized about it a million times, and this feels like the millionth and one.  Her name comes out in a whisper, a prayer or affirmation of this dream he never wants to wake from. 

She pushes the tunic off his shoulders and he lets it fall to the floor.  She peers up at him through hooded eyes and then pulls back ever so slightly.  She slowly moves her hands up and unclasps one side of her dress, before moving to the other.  The dress slides down her silky skin, and he gawks at her naked beauty, the most awe-inspiring sight he has ever beheld.  Sure, he saw her naked once, but Lucy was so distressed then he didn’t have long to appreciate her perfection.  There’s no doubt about what Lucy wants right now, and he is more than inclined to provide it to her. He notices that she covers her sword wound in embarrassment as she lowers her gaze.  He crosses the space between them and pulls her into his arms again, his lips ghosting over hers.  He doesn’t want her to cover up or be ashamed.  He doesn’t care about the wound.  He’d be a complete hypocrite if he did. 

“Lucy.”

“Please?”

_Please?_ He’ll give her whatever she wants, whenever she wants it.  What worries him is that the please is more like begging than asking, and it hurts him deeply to think where this lack of confidence stems from.  He is absolutely positive no man could ever resist her, and especially _not_ like this!  She trails kisses down his neck to his chest, as she carefully places her hands on him.  He still has a bandage from his left shoulder across his back and around his torso.  It does hurt, but he would cut his arm off right now to be with her. 

“Are you sure?  I don’t want to tarnish-”

“What, my reputation?  I’ve got an elemental living in my body.  My reputation is beyond repair and you _know_ it.  I don’t care what anyone thinks.  Not anymore.  Plus, I _died_ and came back.  I’m not wasting another second.”

She yanks him by the waist of his trousers towards her and crashes her lips onto his.  This time, it is Lucy’s turn to kiss him like _she_ never wants to stop.  His hands roam over her curves, as his “other brain” takes control.  She’s clawing at the laces on his trousers like a feral cat, and finally succeeds in her quest.  He steps out of them, and then walks her backwards towards the bed, all the while performing lingual acrobatics. 

It’s been a while since he’s been with a woman and doubts creep into his brain.  He wants to please her in every way possible, yet he worries he won’t be good enough in that department either.  He’s also slightly tentative because he’s afraid he’ll hurt her.  She’s so small and he is most definitely not.  Plus, he’s pretty sure Lucy does not have a great deal of experience in this particular field, although he could always be wrong about that. 

Thankfully, she’s been incredibly responsive so far.  He lays her down carefully in the bed, as he braces his weight on his elbows.  He asks her again if she’s sure, and she responds by grabbing hold of him and pressing against him. They’re desperate for one another and both let out an audible moan as they join as one.  He is kissing every inch of skin he can get his lips on, afraid she’ll disappear before his very eyes.  Lucy is trying to press her body even closer to him without gripping his back and disturbing his wound.  It’s gentle, yet passionate, and he feels like he could literally do this for the rest of his life.  Their consummation is a cosmic collision, two damaged and lost souls finding each other against all odds. 

He intertwines their fingers together, as he lifts her arm above her head and kisses her so deeply he’s afraid he might swallow her whole.  Lucy’s breaths are becoming shallower, and he honestly doesn’t know how much longer he can hold out.  She feels beyond amazing and it’s like he’s having an out-of-body experience right now.  She arches her back as he grabs her thigh and thrusts hard.  Her body quivers and shakes in pleasure, and he finishes a second after her.  They kiss again, this time slowly, as her hands cup his cheeks.  They gaze into each other’s eyes with nothing but love and adoration for quite a while.

When they finally part, he draws her into his side and she rests her head on his shoulder.

“Was that…”

He shifts his head down so he can look her straight in the eye.

“Was that…alright?” she asks as she draws in a breath and holds it.

He kisses her ever so gently, lingering long enough to taste her honey-tinged lips once more.

“Lucy…that was…amazing,” he declares with a huge grin.

She smiles coyly back at him.

“I wanted to make sure I was doing it right,” she whispers.

“That was more than _alright_ my love,” he answers, as he plants a kiss to her forehead.

Lucy is literally still coming down from her sensory overload, as she snuggles up against Garcia.  She appreciates the fact that he was gentle with her, but she doesn’t want him to hold back.  She wants and needs to experience it all, and this is her only chance.  She can’t exactly tell him that either.  If there’s anyone that might be able to talk her out of what she’s about to do, it’s him. 

She regrets all the time they both wasted, and if circumstances were different, she could envision having a good life with him.  Instead, fate is pulling their respective strings in the opposite direction.  The gods (and the sylph) have left her one more night to enjoy and experience the pleasures of the flesh.  Lucy doesn’t plan to waste it.

She’s never been with a man before, yet she wasn’t really nervous with him.  Everything moved at her pace, her direction, her consent.  She thirsts to confess how much she loves him, but she isn’t sure how he’d react.  If he thinks this is just a one-time thing, she doesn’t wish to dissuade that either.  Unfortunately, unless something drastically changes, this _is_ a one-time thing.

He takes her hand in his, brings it to his lips and kisses her knuckles lightly.

“Lucy.”

She lifts her head from his chest and glances up to meet his eyes.

“I-I love you, Lucy.  I cannot-I _will not_ marry Jeniah.  I want you to be my queen,” he declares, as he kisses her softly.

His words are both a dagger to her heart and music to her ears.  She wants nothing more than that to be a reality.  They would be good together, rule well together.  This country would be better off that way.  But, he did swear an oath to marry Jeniah.  People don’t take well to oath breakers.  His word would mean nothing and your word as a king is everything. 

The expression of utter devotion and love that emanate from his face nearly crushes her.  Maybe she shouldn’t have done this.  She’s acting selfishly.  She never considered what it would do to him once she leaves.  This is also why she doesn’t know how to respond to his declaration of love. 

“I don’t care what I have to do to get out of this.  I’ll pay them whatever they want in gold.  I’ll go to war with Scapa if I have to.”

“You cannot go to war for me, Your Grace,” Lucy states with incredulity.

“Garcia.  Call me Garcia, Lucy.”

“Garcia, you cannot start a war over me.”

“I would burn cities to the ground for you.  Five thousand men could not stop me or keep me from you my love.”

He kisses her forehead softly, as she squeezes her grip around him, still cautious of his bandage and wound.  Some women might be taken aback by this statement, but Lucy finds it sweet in a strange way.  There’s a playful shift to this discourse, and she furrows her brow and tilts her head up to get a better look at him. 

“And, what if I decide to prevent this by running off and marrying some foreign lord?”

He smirks back at her and then suddenly flips them over, as his lips hover above hers.

“Then, I’ll be your second husband.”

“What happened to the first?”

“Nothing anyone will be able to prove,” he laughs.

She smacks him playfully, but he plays dirty and kisses a trail down her neck.  He’s already been able to figure out that it drives her wild and they’ve only been together once.  She can sense his slight hesitance.  She takes his cheeks in her hands and kisses him passionately. 

“I want you.  Don’t hold back.  I choose this.  I choose you, Garcia.”

He stares into her eyes for a second, again seeking to ensure she’s being honest with him, then kisses her forcefully.  He works a trail down her body, teasing at her nipples momentarily before he moves down to her center.  He’s worshiping at the altar of Lucy, and she has never felt more connected to the gods than in that moment because this has to be what heaven feels like. 

He holds back less the second time and Lucy takes charge the third go around.  Eventually, they fall asleep from sheer exhaustion.  As the first rays of the new day begin to peek over the horizon, Lucy wakes to the sound of scratching on the door.  She knows it’s the wolf, signaling it’s time to go.  She carefully extricates herself from Garcia’s arms, dresses as quickly and quietly as she can, then makes her way towards the door.  She glances back at the man she loves, still asleep in the bed they made love in.  She wants to remember him in this moment, to etch this picture into her brain.  She stares at him a few seconds longer, then cautiously shuts the door behind her.

The wolf is waiting at her feet and brushes against her leg affectionately, until she bends down and pets its fur.  He scampers down the corridor and Lucy follows.  She reaches Jiya’s chamber and is about to knock when Jiya opens the door.  Then, Lucy has a sense that she’s suffocating and the sylph takes control once again.  She turns to Jiya, her icy blue eyes glittering against the golden rays of dawn in the still dim corridor.

“It’s time to go.  We have a long journey ahead of us.”

 


	26. The Owl & The Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma makes her way to Crimson Rock. Flynn and Lucy reflect on the events of the night before. Kevin arrives at Rittenfell and makes and important discovery. Flynn enlists the help of an unlikely ally in his quest to find Lucy and Jiya.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the elemental business is a complete departure from GoT. I will be weaving more of the show into the story, but the majority of it is still my original creation.  
> Thanks to everyone who continues to read, leave kudos and comments. They always make my day. :-)

**_The Tundra_ **

The stupid wolves chase them to the border of The Glen and stop there, as if they are guarding House Preston’s territory for some reason.  The ride has been exhausting and Emma doesn’t think she’ll be able to make it to the castle by nightfall.  This presents a problem, as the storm intensifies the further north they go.  The night air bites across her face already, as the wind whips the snow in every direction.  She needs to take refuge for the night.  She can make it back to Crimson Rock by mid-morning if she leaves at first light.  Unfortunately, that will all depend on the weather. 

They maneuver the terrain well enough that they’re able to make it to one of the few villages in The Tundra.  The locals naturally take in their liege lady and her men for the evening.  Luckily, the storm blows through overnight and Emma is able to restart her journey home in the early morning.  This ride is most uneventful, that is, until they make the turn off the main road towards Crimson Rock.  As Emma climbs the hill, she spies a disturbance in the snow at the top of the ridge.  She rides ahead of her men, hand on the hilt of her sword ready for an attack.  As she glances down, she sees blood and feathers spread across the snow, along with the heads of four snow owls.  Huge paw prints tinged with blood lead from the snow down the hill towards the woods.  This is definitely a wolf attack, though she’s never known them to go after owls before.  Snow owls are common here, thus the reason they became the sigil of House Whitmore, but in all her years living here, she’s never seen anything like this. 

One of her soldiers catches up to her, as she stares down at the carcasses and audibly gasps when he spies the attack’s aftermath.

“That’s a bad omen, my lady.”

“I’m not worried about a pack of wolves.  We have work to do, let’s go,” she orders.

They trot down the hill to the snow-covered path that leads to the castle.  They need to travel over a narrow bridge to reach the castle’s entrance, which lies on a small island.  Crimson Rock is aptly named, as it is completely made of red stones.  The stones are a slightly lighter shade of red than the red-tiled roofs above them.  Originally, it only consisted of a motte-and-bailey and a single stone tower.  Now, four round towers guard each corner and connect to thick stone walls.  In the center, there is a tall donjon flanked by two wings and an inner courtyard.  Gatehouses and other structures have also been added throughout the years.  The contrast of the red stones and the frosty white snow that covers the ground for much of the year is stark.  The original structure of the castle is very old and it’s rumored to have been a haven for the bastards of House Ritten.  They used the castle more as a hunting lodge than anything, which never endeared them to the local population.  Not that there is much love lost between them and House Whitmore either.  Most of the peoples of The Tundra would prefer to rule themselves.  Some of them, actually do. 

They’re called the Goran, the people that live in the Timeless Mountains to the north.  They live their lives removed from a liege lord’s rule by carving out an existence in small huts and ice caves.  The only contact they have with outsiders is to sell the fur pelts they trade. 

Emma enters the castle without much fanfare.  She orders her servants to begin the preparations for the trek north.  She will rest for a day and then make her way through the treacherous Timeless Mountains and unleash hell on the rest of this world.

He wakes with a smile on his face for the first time in a decade.  Last night was beyond incredible.  He can’t wait to make love to her again, preferably even this morning.  He reaches out across the bed to hold Lucy, but his hand finds a cold space instead.  He darts up, flashes his eyes open and confirms his fears.  She’s gone.  _He probably scared her off with all his confessions of undying devotion.  Or, he didn’t truly satisfy her as well as he thought he did. Or, was the entire thing just a vivid dream?_

He’s pretty sure the latter isn’t true, as he glances around the room.  This is most certainly not his chamber, as Lucy’s things are still strewn about.  He’s slightly panicking now and he scrambles to find his clothes and dress.  As soon as he opens the door, he spots Sir Connor down the corridor banging on his chamber door.  He attempts to duck back into the room, but Sir Connor catches sight of him anyway and marches down the hall in a huff.

“There you are!”

Sir Connor eyes the bed the moment he enters the room, having no doubt about what activity took place there last night. 

“Your Grace-”

“I don’t want to hear it.  Whatever you’re going to say, keep it to yourself.”

“But, Your Grace-”

“What is it?” Flynn asks exasperatingly.

“Our scouts are advising that Lady Whitmore made it to the borders of The Tundra.”

“And?”

“And, we’re now blind to her movements that’s what!” Sir Connor yells.

“We need to find men that know the land if we’re to pursue them.  Ask either Lady Preston if they know of any.  And, send Lady Marri in to check my wound.  I really need a bath and-”

“Lady Marri went for a ride this morning.  She’s not back yet.”

“Fine.  Send servants to my quarters with a tub.  At least I can clean up in the meantime.”

“As you wish, Your Grace.”

After he bathes and dresses, he makes his way to the great hall for breakfast.  He notices immediately that Lucy is absent from the table.

“Where’s Lucy?”

One of the servants delivering bread to the table responds to his question when no one else does.

“Lady Preston and Lady Marri went for an early morning ride, Your Grace.  They have not returned yet.”

“I need to speak to both of them.  Please inform me immediately of their arrival,” he commands.

The servant bows and retreats from the room.  He worries about Lucy, but he’s glad that Jiya is with her.  He cannot wait to see her again and hopes their ride is not a long one.

Lucy is aware of her surroundings even if she doesn’t have control of her own body at the moment.  She and Jiya are riding hard, the white wolf somehow maintaining the same pace.  They hope to reach the River Keynes by dusk.  They’ll need to separate at that point, but for now Lucy is grateful Jiya is around.  She just feels safer with her presence, even if she knows there’s nothing Jiya can do to prevent the sylph from hurting her.

She ponders if this is how her namesake felt with this thing inside her.  No wonder people thought she went nuts.  This is enough to make anyone go nuts. You’re a passenger on a voyage you can’t stop or control.  She prays they get this done sooner rather than later.  She knows this quest will most likely result in her own death, and she’s not exactly in a hurry to die, _again_ , but being near Garcia and not _really_ being able to be with him is torture.  Never in a million years when she first met him did she ever imagine that he could be so soft, so gentle, so loving to her.  She didn’t _just_ have sex with him.  It was something so much more. 

Since all she can do is think right now, her mind flashes back to what it was like to kiss him, to feel his body pressing tightly against hers, to hear him whisper her name in the heat of passion.  She was pretty sure she was in love with him before yesterday, but if there was any doubt, last night erased every one.  For the first time in her entire life, Lucy felt powerful.  To know that she has the power to make this hardened, jaded, soldier-king melt to mush with just a touch is intoxicating.  _Is it just him or does she also have this power over other men?_   She shakes that thought out of her head.  She has no interest in other men.  She only has interest in one.

As the streams of the setting sun shine down upon them, they reach the River Keynes.  They stop to water the horses, the wolf also lapping at the crisp water of the babbling brook.  They refill their own water supply and Jiya munches on the bread and cheese she brought from Rittenfell.  Lucy is not hungry, and even if she was, the sylph probably wouldn’t give a crap anyway.  After all, an elemental doesn’t require the same necessities as a human.  Lucy plans to ride eastward through the night, unless she can find a way to ford the river by herself.  Jiya will ride westward to Preston and take the ferry to cross the river.  It’s slightly out of the way, but the sylph needs her to accomplish this mission, so she’s not about to purposefully put her in harm’s way. 

Lucy asks the sylph if she can have some time with her friend and the sylph reluctantly agrees.  She bows her head and when it lifts back up, Lucy’s brown eyes return, along with control over her body. 

“Lucy!”

“Hey, Jiya.  It’s nice to get a chance to finally talk to you again.”

“Lucy, are you alright?  Do you want some food?  You must be hungry.”

“I’m fine.  Not really hungry.”

“Oh, okay.”

They sit there in silence for a few beats, both glancing at each other with wary smiles. 

“Jiya, I need you to promise me something.”

“What is it?” Jiya asks.

“Promise me that if I don’t make it out of this, you’ll take care of Amy.  She’ll need her other sister to help get her through this.”

“Of course!  But, Lucy, you’re going to get through this.  We’ll find a way.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Lucy responds.

“Well, I am.”

“And, Flynn.  Take care of him too,” she adds.

“Flynn?”

“King Garcia.”

“I know who he is.  Since when do you call him Flynn?” Jiya questions with a raised eyebrow.

“I-I don’t think I ever have,” she laughs.

It feels good to laugh with her friend, especially about something like boys.

“Well, something’s changed.  I can tell, you know,” Jiya informs her.

Lucy swallows hard.  She’s not sure if Jiya is fishing for confirmation of her suspicions or if she truly knows that she slept with him. 

“Lucy, I can promise to help Amy, but the king…”

“What do you mean?  Why-”

“You didn’t see him after you died.  He was inconsolable.  At one point he asked me where you were.  I had to tell him all over again.  I don’t think he’ll survive it if you die again,” Jiya explains.

_This_ , she did not know.  It hits her so hard her chest tightens and she finds it hard to breathe.  She didn’t know this when he came to her chamber, but she doubts it would change her decision that night or now for that matter. 

“Can you promise me that you’ll try?” Lucy begs.

Jiya nods as her expression turns dour.  Suddenly, the wolf knocks Lucy’s saddle bag off the tree stump it was perching on and the journal comes tumbling out.

“What is that?” Jiya questions with curiosity.

“Princess-sorry, Lady Lucy Preston’s journal.  Amy found it in the crypts.  Amy thinks the last two pages prove that Lucy went mad, but when I looked at them I could tell they were written in ancient Aurelian.  Now that I look even further…”

She holds the book up in the pale moonlight to get a better view.  As she does, the page begins to glow an eerie, silver-toned hue, as additional words and symbols begin to appear.

“Look.  Jiya, come look at this!”

“What-what is that?”

“Hidden symbols.  Look here,” Lucy instructs, as she points to a section of the page. “Jessica said that symbol means dragon.  It’s the same symbol in the silver ink, which means…”

“There’s another dragon.  But, where?” Jiya asks.

Suddenly, Lucy cries out and doubles over as the sylph takes over her body.

“Where Lucy and I are going, that’s where.  This dragon is not your concern, my lady.  But, here, take the journal.  You will need it more than we will.  I will leave you a few minutes to say goodbye to Lucy and then we must be on our way.  May the old gods guide and protect you on your journey, my lady,” the sylph states.

Lucy is back a second later, more stunned than anything.  She gathers herself for a moment, then hugs Jiya tightly.

“Be careful, my friend.  Snow will accompany you to Preston and then return to Rittenfell.  He will protect you.”

“Snow?  Lucy, you named the wolf?” Jiya questions.

Lucy reaches down and pets him on his head, as he rubs against her hand.

“Why not?  I figure if he’s here to help protect me, might as well give him a name, right?”

Jiya shrugs her shoulders and Lucy can tell she’s still a little leery of the wolf.  She crouches down slightly as the wolf tilts its head towards her.

“Snow, stay with Jiya and protect her.  I’ll see you when I get back to Ritttenfell.”

Lucy ruffles his fur and then stands back up.

“Be careful!” Jiya yells, as Lucy mounts her horse.

Lucy smiles at her, then bows her head, allowing the sylph to resume control.

When midday comes and Lucy and Jiya still haven’t returned to Rittenfell, Flynn starts to internally panic.  He quietly sends a few men to search for them.  He can’t be seen making a big fuss about either of them right now.  He’s already having a hard enough time getting the northerners to like him, which, thanks to Amy, is going marginally better than it had been.  He needs to be smart about how he proceeds.  Thoughts of his brother, Gabriel, rush into his mind.  He asks himself to think about how Gabriel would react to a given situation.  Basically, the opposite of his own instincts.  He’s going to require a greater political approach now that most of the armies of his enemies have been defeated.  Emma does not have enough men to attack him on her own and the late autumn snows have already begun to fall.  He needs to decide if he’s spending the winter here at Rittenfell or marching his men back to King’s Keep. 

When the door to the great hall opens a little while later, Flynn assumes that Lucy and Jiya have returned.  Unfortunately, the arrival is only of little Kevin, who insists to speak to the king.  Flynn has always had a soft spot for the inquisitive child and tolerates his rant about how no one can find Lucy and he demands the king do something about that.  Sir Connor flashes into the hall a second later, begging the king’s apologies for his precocious child. 

“No need Sir Connor.  Kevin is absolutely correct.  We need to find Lucy and Jiya.”

A soldier rushes into the hall a few moments later.

“Your Grace, we found a trail leading south.  Two horses riding hard.”

Another servant enters the great hall with a scroll for Amy.

“What is it my lady?” Flynn asks.

“It-It’s from Lucy.  She and Jiya have left Rittenfell to obtain a weapon to help us in the war to come?  What war?  Emma doesn’t have many men left.  Am I missing something?”

“Seven hells.  They can’t do this alone.  They’re completely unprotected,” Flynn complains.

“Can’t do what alone?  What in seven hells is going on, Your Grace?” Amy asks exasperatingly.

“This prophecy.  Anthony believed in it, Jessica and Aevin believe in it, Emma obviously believes in it and now Jiya and Lucy.  This is madness.  It’s all that _thing’s_ fault.”

The room stays silent for a few beats, before Rufus opens the prophecy scroll on the table. 

“If Anthony was right, how are Lucy and Jiya going to do this?  They’re not the chosen one?” Rufus questions.

“They can’t…if Anthony was correct.  If he wasn’t, I’m not sure that bodes well for them either,” he responds.

Kevin tries to peer over Rufus’ shoulder to get a look at what all the fuss is about.  It annoys Rufus at first, but then he just gives up and allows his brother to read it. 

“Why would anyone think this is about His Grace?”  Kevin asks, as he raises an eyebrow.

Sir Connor pushes Rufus aside and tries to pull Kevin away.

“This is about Lucy,” Kevin replies nonchalantly.

“Kevin, knock it off!  You don’t even know what this is,” Sir Connor yells.

“It’s a Tallican prophecy.”

“How do _you_ know about the Tallican prophecies?” Sir Connor scoffs.

“Lucy taught me.  We read them and then we go further and read about which events came true,” Kevin answers.

“Kevin, what makes you think this is about Lucy?” Flynn asks.

The boy has always been clever, it’s a family trait, but this is a theory he has never heard.

“It says the blood of kings.  Lucy has the blood of kings.  You do not.”

“Yes, he does. I’m sorry, Your Grace,” Sir Connor states, as he shakes his head at Kevin.

“Not when this was written.  When Tallica wrote her prophecies, there was only one family that ruled,” Kevin explains.

“He’s right you know,” Flynn teases.

“But, just because Lucy has king’s blood doesn’t mean this is about her Kevin,” Sir Connor derides.

“It says shall ride the tides.  Of course that’s about Lucy.  She’s a _mermaid_!” Kevin responds.

Flynn chuckles, but zeroes in on the scroll again.

_Forged by fire. From ashes a hero shall rise.  Holy crap!  These lines fit with Lucy too._  

“Technically, Lucy was forged in fire and rose from the ashes.  It was Nicholas’ ashes and sacrifice that brought her back.”

“The fellowship of four.  Aren’t there four elements?” Rufus asks.

“Seven hells.  They’re going to release the other elementals that are trapped like the sylph was,” he blurts out.

Flynn huffs and stands from his chair.  He’s still in a decent amount of pain from the wound on his back, but he refuses to let Lucy do this alone.

“Where are you going Your Grace?” Sir Connor yells, as he trails behind him.

“To deal with my former brother-by-law.  And…find Lucy and Jiya.”

He strides down the corridor to the room where they have been holding Wyatt and Jessica.  He orders his guards to escort Jessica to the great hall with the others.  Wyatt appears apprehensive, but Flynn swears on Lorena and Iris that he has no intention of hurting either of them. 

“So what do you plan to do with us then?” Wyatt asks.

“Do you want to redeem yourself for what you did to Lucy?”

“Flynn, if you were in my shoes and that were Lorena or Iris…”

“I would have found another way,” Flynn answers.

“Even if it was Lucy?”

Wyatt flinches the second the words leave his mouth.  He knows he’s bordering on the edge of going too far.

“Yes.  Even if it was Lucy.”

“Look, if it wasn’t Jessica I would never have betrayed you.  Why are you asking me though?” Wyatt questions.

“I need someone who can take care of themselves and can protect Lucy and Jiya.  I don’t trust you enough to leave you here if I’m not.  But, if your wife is still a guest here, you might have some motivation in ensuring we all make it back in one piece.  What’s it going to be?”

Wyatt nods his head in agreement.  Sir Connor protests profusely when Flynn informs him of his plan and begs him to take Karl instead.  Flynn explains that he needs Karl to be here in case someone attacks the castle.  He is going and there is no one who is going to stop him. 

Flynn and Wyatt ride south throughout the night.  Lucy and Jiya have an incredible head start on them and they cannot stop if they’re ever going to catch up.  They make it to the River Keynes by dawn and come upon the remnants of a fire.  The girls were here.  The puzzling part is that they seem to have parted ways.

“Why would they separate?” Wyatt questions.

“I don’t know.  The trail that leads west is the way the wolf went.  His paw prints lead in that direction.  That must mean Lucy went west,” Flynn surmises.

“Which means I’m going east to help Jiya, doesn’t it?”

Flynn nods his head.  They need to find new horses since they rode all night.  After they accomplish that, they can head out to find Lucy and Jiya.  He just prays nothing bad has happened to them in the meantime.

 


	27. What Is Dead May Never Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy and Jiya continue on their separate journeys. Emma and her men head up into the mountains in search of the tomb. Lucy and the Sylph search for a ship’s captain in Cahilla. Emma accomplishes her goal, but at what cost?

**_Somewhere in The Glen_ **

The spectral splendor of the moon stains the path ahead, as Lucy rides deeper into the darkness of night.  She hates having to leave Jiya behind, but knows the sylph is correct that they do not have a lot of time to accomplish this.  Lucy still wonders how they will be able to travel all over the continent and make it back in time.  _Is she being lied to again?_

“What happened to all the ferries along this river?” the sylph asks Lucy.

“Most of them are no longer in use.  Preston has a ferry and so does Rittentown in the east.”

Lucy also knows one other way to make it across the river, but she does not want to press her luck with Calhoun again.  The best course is to ride to Rittentown and take the ferry there. 

“When we get to Cahilla, would you prefer if I let you be in charge to secure us a boat?” the sylph questions.

Lucy contemplates this for a moment.  It’s true that she could probably attempt to negotiate and charter a vessel for their voyage, but she knows what Cahilla is like.  She’s a woman traveling alone and most of the seasoned seamen will ignore her.  She doesn’t have a great deal of money to offer them either.  Lastly, the thought of getting on a boat again after almost drowning the last time is causing panic to well up within her. 

“I will try, but you need to tell me where we’re sailing to.”

“A sea cave off the coastline of Cahilla, across from Scarlet Isle,” the sylph responds matter-of-factly.

Lucy blanches at that, as the panic begins to spread in her body.  She remembers what the captain told her on her original voyage to the capital.  This section of water is treacherous.

“Are you sure of the location?  That stretch of water is dangerous.  It may prove difficult to find someone willing to sail there.”

“We’ll find someone.  I have foreseen it,” the sylph answers.

Lucy takes the sylph at her word.  After all, she’s the one with the gift of foresight.  They reach Rittentown in the early morning hours.  The sky bathes in pearly-gray light as she makes her way through the town towards the ferry.  The villagers are engaging in their daily bustle, though most still shoot her strange looks, as if they’re all collectively hallucinating a ghost or watching a dead woman riding.  The town is small, similar to Preston in size and appearance, but it handles a great deal more in terms of wares and goods being shipped up from the capital.  She pays the ferry fare and makes her way across the river without incident.

She continues her ride east, until she makes camp as night falls.  Her horse needs a rest and the sylph realizes she cannot push Lucy’s body any further.  The human needs to eat and rest after all. 

**_The Village of Preston_ **

Flynn makes it to Preston by midday.  Some of the northerners give him the side-eye, still unsure of his newly-minted reign, while others offer to help with open arms, happy to be out from under the yoke of Lord Nicholas and Sir Benjamin’s oppressive rule.  He inquires about Lucy, even asking if anyone has seen a white wolf.  No one has seen Lady Preston or a wolf and Flynn’s desperation grows by the second.  He _needs_ to find her, know she is alive and well and safe. 

Just when he is about to give up entirely, he feels a small tug on his pant leg.  When he peers down, he spies a young girl, probably around the age of eight, staring up at him.  He bends down towards her and she whispers into his ear softly, “I saw the wolf in the forest this morning while I was picking mushrooms.  He was with the red lady, but then she came into town and he went back into the woods.”

“Did she stay in town?”

“No. She took the ferry.”

“Thank you very much,” Flynn replies with a bow.

“You’re welcome, Your Grace.”

_Jiya.  She saw Jiya and the wolf.  But, why is the wolf with Jiya and not Lucy?  He doesn’t leave Lucy’s side.  Did something happen?_   He takes the next ferry across the river and rides as hard and fast as he can.  He needs to catch up to her. 

He rides until his horse is about to drop from exhaustion.  Night is falling fast.  He is almost at the border of the phantom forest, when he spies a light in the distance.  He dismounts his horse and walks towards the light, one hand still on the reins.  A few steps later, he can see the silhouette of a woman by a small fire.  A twig snaps beneath his boot and she gazes up in his direction.  She jumps to her feet when she spies him.

“Your Grace, what are you doing here?” Jiya questions.

“Looking for you and Lucy.”

“This isn’t something you can help with I’m afraid.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m not going to try.  And, at least I can keep you safe while you do whatever it is you’re doing.  What are you doing?” he asks.

“I need to rescue two elementals.  The sylph gave me what I need or so she says.”

“Where are you going and where’s Lucy?”

“Lucy is going to get the last elemental.  I’m heading to the Coral Caldera,” Jiya responds.

“That’s at least another two days ride.  I’m not leaving you.”

Jiya acquiesces and allows him to accompany her.  They ride the entire next day until they reach Castle Christopher.  Jiya is happy to check in on her mother, whose wound is healing nicely.  Flynn’s wound, on the other hand, looks red and irritated.  Jiya argues with him until he finally agrees to let her treat it.  He drifts in and out of sleep himself that night, too afraid of what is happening to Lucy.  _Lucy, the most enchantingly amazing woman he’s ever met._   He dreams of their night together, their perfect union.  He remembers her soft, silky skin sliding against his, her luscious lips, the scent of camellia in her hair.  He longs to have her in his arms again.  He doesn’t care what he has to do to make that a reality, what price he has to pay.  He will not lose her.  He cannot live in a world that is devoid of Lucy.  He cannot.

**_Crimson Rock_ **

Emma gathers her men and they set out from Crimson Rock onto the snowy northern path.  The journey will not be easy.  The terrain is steep, prone to avalanche and protected by the Goran.  She has a couple of men who know the mountains relatively well and she’s counting on them to lead her safely to the tomb. 

It’s so cold that if you stand still for too long you’ll freeze to death.  Emma fails to see how anyone could live in these conditions.  The mountain passes are narrow, which slows them down considerably.  She has only brought a few men and hopes they can just slip by unnoticed, but has the distinct feeling they’re being watched.  Emma can see nothing but endless ice and snow as they climb up further into the higher elevations.  The Timeless Mountains are the largest on the entire continent and are as mysterious as they are tall.  The range stretches out over a vast area and the tomb lies somewhere in the middle.  She doesn’t know who built it, but struggles to imagine how they were able to in such a steep and inhospitable environment. 

There’s no way they’ll make it to the tomb by sundown, so they begin to scout locations to set up their camp.  The caves would be a great place to hunker down, but Emma isn’t about to risk falling into a crevasse just to stay a few degrees warmer.  The Goran know these mountains best and can easily avoid the trouble spots hidden beneath the ice.  They’re also known to booby trap caves that are easily accessible in order to deter outlanders from encroaching on their territory.  They decide to set up camp next to one of the few streams that still have running water.  Emma bundles herself with as many furs as she can, while crouching next to the fire. 

She doubts she’ll sleep much, but she stills needs to try.  Her body aches from the tough climb today and she must conserve her energy.  She dozes in and out of consciousness, the sounds of the unknown wilderness rousing her every so often. 

Suddenly, in the middle of the night, Emma wakes with a start.  A cold, silent air is draping over the camp, the whispers of the wild reticent in the usual nocturnal noises.  It’s too quiet.  Emma springs up from her bed of furs, draws her sword and peeks out of her tent.  A torch goes flying by her head and strikes the next tent over.  They’re under attack and they’re most definitely at a disadvantage.  A few of her men flock to her and stand back-to-back, searching futilely for their enemy.  The Goran are as quiet as ghosts, stalking their prey with a cat-like precision, darting in and out of the woods and caves. 

There’s no way they can defend this camp, so Emma and a few of her men make a break for the woods.  They run and stumble through the snow until their lungs feel as if they’re bleeding.  They have no supplies and most of her men are dead.  They also ran off in the direction of home, which means they’ll have to travel even further if they want to reach the tomb.  Emma doesn’t care if she kills every one of her men as long as she reaches the tomb herself safely.  They manage to hide from the Goran and as the sun rises decide to try a different route.  It’s a steeper climb, yet Emma is undeterred.  She will get into this tomb, even if it’s the last thing she does.

**_Cahilla_ **

Lucy has been pleading with every captain, fisherman and sailor she can find for the last four hours.  No one is willing to sail to where the cave is located.  The sylph is losing its patience and Lucy fears she may take matters in her own hand at any point.  This proposition terrifies her, as she is highly unsure what the elemental is capable of.  She really doesn’t put it past her to steal a vessel and try to sail there herself in Lucy’s body. 

After another fifteen minutes in vain, Lucy is ready to give up and let the sylph do whatever, when she senses a presence behind her.

“My lady?”

Lucy spins on her heels and stares directly into Wyatt’s face.

“What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you and Jiya, my lady.”

“Go home Wyatt.  You cannot help us.  You should be with your wife.  Go be with Jess.”

“Lucy, I’m so sorry for what I did.  If I could take it back I would, but I can’t go back unless you’re going with me.”

“Why?” Lucy asks with confusion.

“Because the king will definitely have my head if I do.”

“Wyatt, unless you can find someone insane enough to sail down the coastline to Scarlet Isle, there’s nothing you can do to help us,” Lucy states with exasperation.

Wyatt hems and haws for a few minutes as the midday rush of ships go in and out of the harbor.  Wyatt squints his eyes against the sun and narrows in on a particular ship coming into port.

“You need someone insane you say?  I might just have the man you’re looking for,” he states, as he walks further down the dock.

Lucy trails after him trying to get him to answer her further questions without avail.  She’s still leery of him after the stunt he pulled with the knife, but she’s running out of options.  Wyatt stops at the second to last berth as the sailors secure the ship.  Lucy and Wyatt stand there for a while as the men unload their cargo, until a man whom Lucy assumes is the captain strolls towards them. 

“Sir Wyatt fucking Logan.  Never thought I’d see that ugly mug again.”

“Ugly?  Like you’ve got room to talk Bam.”

Both of their faces are expressionless until they burst out in laughter and hug each other.  It’s then that Bam turns his eyes to Lucy, who waits a few feet behind Wyatt.

“Damn!  No wonder you quit the life.  I would too if I could marry _that!_ ” he exclaims, as he ogles Lucy.

Lucy’s mouth drops wide open, her eyes almost bug completely out of her head and her gaze flits back and forth between Wyatt and Bam. 

“Bam, no, this isn’t Jessica.  May I present, Lady Preston.”

“Pardon me, milady,” Bam replies with a mock bow.

Lucy’s mouth is still slightly agape and Wyatt jumps in and takes charge.

“Bam, we need a boat and a captain.  You’re my man, right?”

“Of course, Logan.  Where to?”

“The coastline and Scarlet Isle?” Wyatt responds as more of a question than anything.

“Hell no!  Have you lost your fucking mind?” Bam exclaims.

Lucy steps forward about to appeal to his sense of greed, when she suddenly has that same feeling of being sucked out to sea.  Her eyes flash blue and the sylph takes over.

“No, but you will if you don’t help us,” the sylph threatens.

Bam jumps back, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his sword.  “Wyatt, what the-”

“I would listen to the lady, Bam.”

“Lady, you’re going to get us all killed!  The winds alone will rip the ship apart.”

“The winds will no longer be a problem.  Will you take us or not?” the sylph demands.

Bam and Wyatt exchange worried glances, but then Bam nods in agreement.  He orders the majority of his crew off the vessel, only taking enough men to sail the ship since they’re not hauling any cargo.  They board the ship, unfurl the sail and move out of the harbor into the Sea of Cahill. 

They hug the coastline and have smooth waters the first hour of their voyage.  Then, the wind picks up and the vessel begins to gain speed as the waves crash against the bow.  Bam, for what it’s worth, appears to be a better-than-average captain and is leading the vessel towards Scarlet Isle with minimal effort. 

The sylph approaches the bow of the ship and stretches out her arms.  The winds are instantaneously absent a moment later.  The entire ship, including Bam and Wyatt, stop in the middle of their duties and stare straight at her.  She pays them no mind and turns on her heel back toward the stern as if nothing happened at all.  Whatever the sylph just did has left Lucy feeling raw and jagged, as if she battled a blizzard within herself.  Lucy needs to rest desperately, but she’s afraid to leave the sylph running amok without a chaperone. 

She dozes in and out of fitful sleep, only semi-aware of her surroundings.  It’s for that same reason she has no clue how long they’ve been traveling or how much longer it’s going to take.  The sylph speaking out loud stirs her from her slumber and she guesses they have reached their destination.  She can only see what the sylph is looking directly at, as her peripheral vision is non-existent.  As she focuses in on the view, she can clearly see Scarlet Isle off in the distance.  The sylph seems to be using the island as a directional guide or marker to lead her to the correct location.  On the other side is the coastline of The Watershed, weathered and pock marked from the raging seas and unforgiving winds.  Multiple caves have been carved out from years of erosion.  She instructs Bam to drop anchor and then turns to Wyatt.  “If I do not return by dawn, you need to leave this place and get as far away from this entire continent as you possibly can.”

Wyatt’s face fades to a paler shade of white and he swallows nervously.  He cannot look the sylph in the eye and is now visibly starting to sweat.  The sylph glances back at Wyatt and Bam, then climbs to the top of the deck and dives into the water. 

**_The Timeless Mountains_ **

Emma does not care if she loses every single one of her men to the Goran as long as she makes it to the tomb in one piece.  This ancient weapon is her last real hope of acquiring any power now that her allies are all gone. 

They finally arrive at their destination and cautiously approach the entrance to the tomb.  Emma knows they will suffer an attack again, because there’s no way the Goran would only guard the pass and not the entrance, so she orders one of her few remaining men to scout ahead.  Just as she suspects, the Goran attack her scout.  They spring from the snowy wilderness like ghosts and Emma uses the chance to sprint for the entrance.  She only needs a few moments to open the door and her men fight valiantly to give it to her. 

The entrance is a large, stone door carved directly into a hill of ice.  Ancient runes cover the door, as well as an inscription in both ancient Aurelian and the common tongue.  On the top of the page of the spell Anthony gave her, there are four symbols.  Emma couldn’t figure out what their meaning was initially, even though the symbols are not particularly complex.  She knows the Tree of Life and the Eternity Knot, but not the other two.  As she gazes at the door, she recognizes that the runes on the door are the same from the spell.  The door will not open by force and Emma figures out the runes must be the key somehow. 

She’s running out of time and men, so she pushes on the first rune illustrated on the page.  Slowly, the ice crackles and breaks around the rune and Emma is able to slam the rock further back until she hears a loud bang.  The Tree of Life rune is the next on the scroll and Emma slams that one next until she hears a second bang.  When she gets to the last rune, the Eternity Knot, she takes a deep breath.  She stretches her arm out to push, when suddenly an arrows pierces her back.  She falls forward, but manages to shove the last stone.  The door creaks and groans and slowly opens.  She tries to take a step forward, but stumbles onto her hands and knees as the door slams shut behind her. 

The tomb is pitch black.  The air is stale and musty and the floor comprises of damp, broken stone.  Emma finds it hard to breathe, both from the stagnant air and the arrow lodged in her back.  She’s struggling to keep calm as the Goran pound on the door behind her.  Blindly, she fumbles with both hands along the floor searching for something, anything that can assist her.  Her fingers comb the area in front of her and then land on a hard, cylindrical shaped object, with ragged cloth wrapped around it.  She does have flint on her, (it’s more of a survival essential in these mountains after all), and she strikes the torch alight.  As the oil burns and illuminates the tomb, Emma drops the torch in shock.  The torch isn’t a torch at all, but a human femur with its former occupant’s linen pants as the oil rag.  She can see the remnants of this man a few paces ahead of her. 

As disgusting as she finds it, Emma has no choice.  She picks up the leg bone torch again.  Her back is killing her, the wound actively bleeding, which accounts for the warm, sticky feeling she has.  As she staggers to her feet, she can spy three doors in front of her.  The middle door is ajar, yet the other two are sealed completely shut.  She has no idea which way she’s supposed to be going, so she lurches forward towards the middle door. 

The corridor is narrow and leads deeper into the depths of the mountain.  Emma clings to the walls for support as she struggles to remain upright.  The air is even fouler down here.  Her chest tightens and her lungs burn.  Finally, she comes upon a large sarcophagus.  It’s made entirely of the same black stones used in the construction of Shadowspear.  An inscription is carved onto the surface and Emma slinks forward to read it. 

As she reaches the sarcophagus, her foot depresses a stone with a rune carving on the floor.  Before she can even glance down, a shard of shadowglass is propelled from the opposite wall straight into her chest.  She falls forward in a heap onto the sarcophagus, her fingers fumbling for the scroll in her pocket.  It’s now or never.  She’s dying and she knows it.  Her mouth is dry, her lungs are crushing under the weight of unbreathable air, and she now has matching wounds on either side of her body. 

She unfurls the scroll, her blood smearing on the parchment as she does.  She pulls the handkerchief with Lucy’s blood out of her pocket and grips it tightly in her hand.  She rubs it onto the sarcophagus and begins to recite the spell.

**_“Kare poshi, muka kurara_ **

**_Uya kufema moto_ **

**_Kuputsa ruoku anosunga_ **

**_Dzorera vakarasika umambo”_ **

The words are ancient Aurelian and she’s only mostly sure of the pronunciation.  Loosely translated into the common tongue, Emma thinks she has just said, “Ancient one, awake from your slumber.  Bring forth your breath of fire.  I break the shackle that binds you.  Now, reclaim your lost empire.”

She can barely get the words out of her mouth before she collapses onto the sarcophagus, which in turn, shoves the shadowglass deeper into her chest cavity.  The stone vibrates violently beneath her and a rush of blue mist engulfs her.  She’s choking and coughing up blood, as her breath becomes shallower and a death rale escapes from her chest.  The world fades to black and then a few moments later, she opens her eyes.  Her chest is not undulating with breath, yet she’s alive.  She glances down at her chest, noticing her wound has healed, leaving only a jagged scar in its place.  Her skin has an eerie, bluish tinge to it and an ancient power courses through her body like an avalanche burying the mountainside. 

Suddenly, another door opens to another chamber and Emma peers down into the darkness.  It’s only then she notices she no longer needs the torch.  Her eyes see perfectly and she makes out a large stone statue of a dragon.  The statue begins to burn a brilliant red and gold, as the surface splinters apart like an eggshell.  As the stone edifice falls to the floor, a full-grown, real-life dragon stands before her.  The dragon’s scales are as white as the snow outside, save a few areas of light blue on its wings and spines, and a darker shade of slate from the horns to just above the eyes.  His scales have a shimmering quality, as if it is attempting to mimic its home environment.  The dragon’s eyes are a reptilian yellow and they narrow and stare at her in the darkness. 

A millisecond later, the dragon opens its mouth and deluges her with its blue flame.  She senses more than feels the cold momentarily, before her icy blue skin sucks it up.  The dragon tilts its head in confusion.  Emma saunters closer and the dragon breathes blue flame upon her again.  She pushes through and lays her hand upon its frosty scales.  The dragon screeches and roars, and then its yellow eyes turn a light blue. 

It bends its head down and Emma climbs on, gripping the spines on the back of the head.  She kicks her left leg lightly and the dragon lifts its head and spews its blue flame skyward.  The ceiling collapses around them.  As the arctic air sweeps in, the dragon extends its wings and takes flight. 


	28. The Fire of the Phoenix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy and the sylph attempt to rescue the second elemental. Flynn and Jiya continue their journey towards the caldera and have more than one obstacle to overcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some MurderVision for you all. Hope you like it because I really enjoy writing their interactions.

**_The Sea of Cahill_ **

Lucy panics the second her body hits the cold water.  The sylph tells her to be quiet, noting her powers will protect her during the dive.  The waves slam against her feet and propel her towards the rocky coastline, as she dives down deeper and deeper.  The light from the surface is waning, as she reaches the ocean floor.  Contrary to Kevin’s assertions, Lucy is _not_ a mermaid and cannot breathe underwater, yet she is.  _Maybe Kevin wasn’t too far off after all._  

The visibility is abnormally clear for this time of year and the water is still around her.  The sylph is definitely responsible for this, as her eyes glow that familiar aqua-blue and illuminate the water around her.  An underwater cave lies straight ahead and the sylph swims towards it.  Lucy is eternally glad she doesn’t have to be the one responsible for her own body at the moment, as the cave is bringing out the worst of her claustrophobia.

They swim for what feels like an eternity until it opens up into a wider cavern.  The sylph pushes upward in the water column and they break the surface.  Lucy is aware of her lungs refilling with air and the burning in her chest is beginning to subside. 

“How were you able to do that?  I thought you’d drown in water?” Lucy asks the sylph telepathically.

“I would have…on my own.  The ancients imprisoned us in ways that would make it impossible for us to escape on our own or for another one of our kind to rescue us.  They even made it difficult for any human attempting to acquire our power.  Luckily, they did not have the foresight to account for you.”

“Me?  Why me?  There’s nothing special about me,” Lucy advises.

“My dear, Lucy.  You are so much more than you could ever imagine.  You are the chosen one, the princess who was promised.  You have a strength that no one has had in hundreds of years.  The last daughter of Ritten.  It must be you Lucy or we are all doomed.”

She still has trouble believing any of this.  She’s just Lucy, not a princess and most certainly not the savior of the known world.  The sylph prods her on and she walks down a long corridor that opens up into a round room.  The ceiling is low, but thankfully Lucy doesn’t have to bend.  A bright, orange glow from a singular flame in a brazier lights the room from the center point.  Surrounding the center platform are concentric circles of water fountains that continuously spray into the air.  The room is devoid of anything else and Lucy waits in anticipation of what they need to do next. 

“Lucy, I need you to remain calm.  This is not going to be easy.  Salazar is the most powerful salamander I have ever encountered.  I cannot afford to have you distract me right now.”

Lucy agrees to be quiet, but she wants to know exactly what a salamander is.  The sylph explains that salamanders are fire elementals, the strongest and most powerful of them all.  They’re dangerous and the sages were warned to keep away from them.  They exert special influence over all beings of fiery or tempestuous temperament.  Yet, without their assistance, there would be no warmth in this world. 

The sylph instructs Lucy to look into the fire.  As she stares into the flame, she spies a small, glowing, lizard-like creature twisting and crawling in the center.  She wonders how such a tiny thing could be so powerful, and the sylph replies in her head that many would say the same about Lucy and be just as wrong in their assertion. 

“The fountains are guarded by a spell.  No elemental can pass, which is why I need you to walk to the center platform.  You will be vulnerable for a few seconds, but then I will assert control again.  Do you understand?”

Lucy nods and then places her foot into the first circle.  She walks slowly until she reaches the central platform.  The salamander appears to be about to strike, its eyes glowing a newfound bright red.  The sylph takes control once again and flashes her brilliant blue eyes directly at him. 

“Hello, old friend,” the sylph states aloud.

“You’re too late.  The scourge has been unleashed.  There is no point now.”

“Fine.  Then you can rot in this tomb of water for eternity.”

The sylph turns her back and begins to walk away.

“Wait!  You can release me?” the salamander asks.

The sylph turns back around and gets close to the flame. “I can. But, as you know, there is always a price to be paid.”

“Name it.  At least I’ll have a taste of freedom before this world is completely destroyed.”

“Freedom is the price you will need to pay in order to be released,” the sylph explains.

“Don’t give me one of your riddles!  Speak your damn terms plainly or I’ll fry you’re little friend over here to a crisp,” the salamander threatens.

“Then you’ll be stuck with me for eternity.  You sure you want that?  We can defeat the scourge with the fellowship of four.  Your freedom will be granted, once the threat is conquered.”

“You expect this puny human to contain my power!” the salamander roars.

“This puny human is the princess who was promised.  She _can_ and she _will_ or else we all die,” the sylph states.

“She’s a daughter of Ritten?”

“The last daughter of Ritten.”

“She possesses the blood then.  There may be a way to combat this scourge after all.  The fellowship of the four elementals will not be enough,” the salamander explains.

“You know this?”

“I do.  The fellowship of four must also extend to the dragonriders.  Only then will we stand a chance.  She must awaken this one.  If it is fated to belong to her, it will bond with her.  If not, we will not have long to find the human that is fated to be its rider.”

“What does she need to do?” the sylph asks.

**_The Dunes_ **

Flynn and Jiya ride at first light for the Coral Caldera.  They have a great deal of ground to cover and not nearly enough time.  It’s a two day ride to reach the caldera.  As much as he wants to, he cannot overwork the horses in this arid climate.  He needs to have patience, the one thing he’s lacked since he was born. 

As night falls, they make camp.  He lights a fire, even though they won’t die this far south without one.  The conversation has been non-existent for most of the ride and hasn’t gotten any better now that they’re both fireside.  He likes Jiya.  She has some of her mother’s tenacity, but a much gentler touch.  She’s smart and capable, yet he still has the overwhelming urge to be the protective older brother.  The silence is becoming too much for him to bear and he shifts nervously on the log.  Jiya glances in his direction a few times, but never utters a word.  Finally, he snaps.

“I-I love her, you know.”

Jiya lifts her head and meets his gaze.  “I know you do, Your Grace.  I’ve known that since the healing spell.”

“I-I didn’t even know I loved her then, so how could you possibly…?”

Jiya just smiles back at him.

“Your vision of the king and queen.  Was it-was it Lucy and I?” he asks.

“I do not know, Your Grace.  I could not see the faces.  It could have been the past, though I don’t know why I would have a vision of the past when all of the others have portended future events.  It could also have been from far in the future.”

“Jiya, I can’t lose her again.  I don’t care what I have to do, what I have to give up, or who I have to kill in order to do it.  We need to save Lucy.”

“I agree, Your Grace.  It’s one of the reasons I’m doing this in the first place,” Jiya answers.

“It hasn’t exactly turned out how I’d hoped.”

“Perhaps not, but maybe it’s turned out how it was meant to be,” Jiya responds with a smile.

“Maybe.”

He doesn’t sleep much that night either.  He tries to recall the scent of camellia in Lucy’s hair, but cannot.  He can only smell sand.  His mind drifts back to their night together.  He remembers being afraid that he was a little too rough their second time around and how he was so close to completely losing control.  She intoxicates him in the best way, breaking through his icy exterior and turning him into a puddle.  He recalls the entire night with fondness, but his favorite memory was when Lucy woke him up in the middle of the night.  Her raven hair spilled down over her ivory skin, as her mouth explored his body, tracing every single scar along the way.  It startled him for sure, but Lucy was in control and knew exactly what she was doing and what she wanted.  It only made him love her more.  Their life together would certainly never be boring.

The ride the next day is uneventful.  They reach Coral Caldera at dusk, dismount their horses and take a quick look around.  The landscape is desolate and dry, with steep and rocky terrain around the caldera proper. 

“So, what now?” Flynn questions. 

“There has to be a door into the caldera somewhere.  We just have to find it.”

They search around the base of the caldera for a little while, as the sun sets over the horizon.

“Jiya, it’s getting dark.  We’re never going to find it like this.”

“You will need it more than we will,” Jiya states, as her eyes brighten and go wide.

“What?” he asks.

“The journal,” she replies, as she digs into her bag and pulls out the book.

“What journal?”

“Lucy’s namesake.  The last two pages are a part of a spell.  Everyone thought she went mad, but she had the sylph inside her and someone saw these last two pages and thought she was writing gibberish.  But it’s not.  When Lucy and I held the paper up to the moonlight, it illuminated an entire set of hidden silver symbols.”

Jiya stretches out her arm and holds the parchment up, though nothing changes as the moon’s sway is not in full effect yet.  They decide to make a fire and find something to eat while they wait for the moonlight to grow stronger.

“Jiya, can I see those pages?”

Jiya hands him the entire journal and he thumbs through until he reaches the last two pages.  He leans forward towards the fire to get a better look and when he does he notices a slight red glow to the pages. 

“Jiya?”

“What is that, Your Grace?”

“I don’t know.”

Jiya gets up from the other side of the fire and sits down next to him.  He slowly and carefully moves his hand even closer to the flame, making sure he does his best to not set the entire thing on fire.  Just like it did previously, the two pages glow and additional symbols appear, except this time they glow a crimson color. 

“The last ones were silver with the moonlight,” Jiya informs him.

“So, these are complete different than last time then?”

“Absolutely.”

They both scan the parchment over and over, trying to decipher the runes. 

“That one means dragon.”

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“Positive.  It’s the same as the silver ink.”

“I think that’s a volcano,” he states.

Jiya glances over at him with a raised eyebrow.

“I was tutored in seven different languages as a prince.  I’m pretty sure I’ve seen this before.”

“It looks as if there is a door drawn on this side of the volcano rune,” Jiya points out.

They each grab a log from the fire to use as a torch and proceed to inspect the base of the volcano.

“Your Grace, over here!”

Flynn follows the sound of Jiya’s voice until he sees her literally pressing the torch against the rock, which unearths an outline of a blazing, red door.  They smile at each other and press with all their might, but the rock does not budge.  They try again and come up with similar results.

“We must be missing _something_ ,” he complains, as they both sit down to catch their breath.

“It doesn’t say anything else on the first page.  What about the second page of the journal?”

Flynn pulls it out of his pocket and holds the flame close to the last page of the journal.  Flaming red letters appear between the black ink words.  They both stare at them, but nothing is springing to mind. 

“It’s just random letters,” he groans, as he gets up and turns toward the door again.

Jiya gazes back at him, as if she’s hoping he can figure this out because it’s stumping her.  He scans the door again and realizes there is some faint writing on the top of the lintel. 

“Jiya, can you hold the torch so I can try to read this?”

Jiya flashes up from her sitting position and stretches her arm as far as she can towards the lintel.  Flynn leans in and squints to see better, then starts to read the inscription out loud.

“When is a door not a door?”

“What?” she questions.

“At least I think that’s what that translates to.  Part of the inscription has crumbled away.”

They both sit down and ponder what the inscription could possibly mean.  They’re both exhausted from riding all day in the heat and their patience is running out.  Finally, as he’s reaching the point of uselessness, it clicks.

“It’s a fucking riddle!” he exclaims.

“A riddle?”

“Yes.  What are the letters in between that first section of the last page?”

“AAJR,” Jiya answers.

“Ajar!” they yell in unison.

Suddenly, a loud cracking and crunching sound bellows from the rock and dust spews forth from the door as it opens.

“These ancient people must have been easily amused,” he jokes.

Jiya chuckles in response as Flynn leads the way into the tunnel.  The air is hot and dry, the torch is making him sweat and he has no idea what’s at the end of this thing.  They reach the end of the tunnel and see a small hole at the base of the wall.  Flynn groans as he bends down and crawls through.  He can feel Jiya behind him and they crawl for a few feet before he abruptly stops.  Jiya’s head slams into his backside and the force almost pushes him over a ledge.  He grips the lip of the edge and gingerly pulls himself out, then helps Jiya.  They don’t have much room at all to maneuver, as the ledge is small and the rock is crumbling.  Jiya literally has to place her hands on his chest as he hugs her tight in order to prevent them from falling.

“What do we do now, Your Grace?” Jiya asks in a shaky voice.

His line of sight is the small tunnel they just crawled through.  He needs to turn around in order to see the rest of the room to attempt to find a way out of this predicament. 

“Jiya, we’re going to have to shift our weight so I can see the room.”

She nods nervously and clings onto him with an iron grip.  Slowly, they sway back and forth until he’s completely turned around.  There is nothing directly in front of them, but he knew that already, so he glances from left to right.  There appear to be other ledges, some of which seem to be larger and more stable than the one they’re currently standing on.  The last thing he _wants_ to do is look down, but he knows he has to.  As he peers downward, he realizes they’re at the heart of the volcano.  Lava spews from its core, scorching the rocks around it prior to devouring them. 

In the center of the lava is an elevated platform made of stone and the fountain atop of it trickles small droplets of water into a basin. 

“I’m assuming we need to get down there somehow,” Flynn states to Jiya, as he points downward.

She can’t see past him to get a view of the room herself, so finding a solution is once again left up to him.  He sees only one option, but it’s dicey and they could easily both die right here and now. 

“I have an idea, but you’re not going to like it,” he advises her.

“I’m sure I’ll like it better than not being able to move.”

“Fine.  There’s another ledge over there.  I’m pretty sure I can jump and make it, but…”

“But I won’t,” Jiya responds.

“I’m going to have to toss you,” he replies with a cringe.

“Okay,” she replies reluctantly.

With such little room, he has to make sure he has enough force to get her to the next ledge.  If he misses or doesn’t throw her hard enough, she’s dead.  _No pressure, though._  

“Um…”

“What?” she asks.

“I need to hike your dress up and-”

“And grab me in an ungentlemanly manner?  It’s fine, Your Grace.”

He hikes her dress up and grabs her thigh, as his other hand grips her waist.

“On three.  One. Two. Three.”

He throws Jiya with all of his might and she lands perfectly in the middle of the ledge.  Now, it’s his turn.  He would prefer to be able to get a running jump, but the ledge is only a little larger than he is.  Well, if he dies, at least it should be a quick death.  He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and then jumps.  His feet barely land on the ledge, as the ground beneath him begins to crumble.  Jiya grabs his arm and pulls him towards her, just as that side of the ledge crumbles completely into the molten lava below.  They both breathe a sigh of relief and peer below the ledge to figure out their next move.  They only have to go down one more level to reach the platform.  Remnants of what was once a staircase lie in front of them.  To the right, decaying pulley elevators are against the wall.  The elevators are wooden slats that have seen better days, but they truly have no other option.  Flynn climbs on first and hopes that if it can hold his weight it’s stable enough for the both of them, since Jiya weighs next to nothing (in his opinion). The wood creaks and moans, but seems to be bearing the brunt of his six-foot-four frame just fine.

Jiya uses his arm to steady herself as she climbs on.  This time the wood cracks and shifts beneath their feet and Jiya panics and latches onto him like a cat climbing a tree to escape a dog.  The concentration of both of their weight breaks the wood completely and he grabs the pulley rope just in time.  His feet are dangling with nothing but lava beneath him, Jiya is clinging onto him for dear life, and now he has to hold both of their body weights with only his arms.  He can sense his grip slipping and he really doesn’t feel like dying today, so he starts swinging his legs back and forth to gain momentum.  His choices are to swing potentially to his death or drop to his certain death.  As the pulley rope starts to come undone, he knows it’s now or never.  He makes one last swing and then releases the rope. 

They soar through the air, then begin the descent.  It feels like an eternity and he doesn’t want to open his eyes.  Finally, he lands on his backside with a hard thud, Jiya literally sprawled on top of him.  They’re both gasping for breath and neither one is able to move or open their eyes for a few moments.  Somehow, they made it to the platform unscathed.  Jiya lifts her head up, scans her surroundings, then takes his cheeks in both hands and kisses him in utter excitement.

“We made it!  We made it!”

“Careful, Jiya.  Rufus might get jealous.”

“Oh, my, I-I’m so sorry, Your Grace,” she states, as she scrambles off of him.

He waves a hand at her telling her to forget about it.  No one ever has to know anyway.

“Plus, I wouldn’t get too excited yet.  We still have to get out of here.”

The smile on her face disappears instantaneously. 

“Thanks for the reminder,” she replies.

They dust themselves off, steady themselves and then inch towards the fountain.  The heat from the nearby flames are sweltering and his eyes sting with sweat.  They need to do this quickly before they both get heatstroke.  Jiya stretches her arms out towards the fountain and recites the words the sylph told her to say.  Nothing happens at first, but then the fountain’s trickle begins to intensify and flows like a raging river.

After a few minutes, water is moving skyward and the splendor of the fountain is breathtaking.  A mist surrounds the fountain suddenly.  As it begins to dissipate a few second later, Flynn can clearly see a human woman standing there.  Well, almost human, since her legs are still made of the water spurting from the fountain and she’s completely see-through.  He has been all over this world, but has never seen anything like this. 

“A daughter…and a son,” the being states, as she stares at them.

They both stand and gawk at this _very_ naked woman in front of them, completely unsure what to do next.

“Which one of you released me?”

“I did,” Jiya replies, as she takes a step forward.

The woman’s eyes narrow as she inspects her and Flynn just stands there, hand not quite on the hilt of his sword.

“My name is Una.  What’s yours?”

“Jiya.”

“Jiya.  That’s a pretty name.”

“Th-thank you.”

“And, you are?” she asks, as she turns towards Flynn.

“Garcia of House Flynn.”

Una tilts her head in confusion and stares again.

“I don’t understand.  You’re not children of Ritten, how did you free me then?”

“A sylph gave me a spell to use.”

Una’s entire demeanor changes once Jiya mentions the sylph. 

“The fellowship.  It is time.  If the fellowship has been invoked, there is one more thing we must do while we’re here.”

“What’s that?” Flynn questions.

“We need to wake the dragon.”

“We need to what?”

“Wake the dragon from its slumber,” Una answers with a huff.

Flynn glances over at Jiya with a clear expression of worry on his face. 

“If the undine says we need to do it, I think we should listen.  You have any other ideas about how to get out?” Jiya quips.

“My name is Una, not the undine.”

“Sorry, I’m used to the sylph who is currently inhabiting my friend’s body.  She’s not exactly very…”

“Personal?  You’ll find that I am much different than that I promise.”

“What’s an undine?” Flynn whispers to Jiya.

“A water elemental.”

Suddenly, Una points to Jiya with authority.  “You have magic, eastern magic.”

“A little,” Jiya responds sheepishly.

“A little is all we’ll need.”

“Alright,” Jiya answers, as she shallows hard.  “What do you need me to do?”

“Summon him.”

“I-I don’t know how.  I don’t actively practice magic.”

“Summon the fire of the phoenix.”

Jiya still appears to be confused and he’s completely useless at the moment.  She stretches her arms out again, squeezes her eyes shut and starts mumbling something that he can’t quite hear.  Whatever she’s doing it seems to be working, because the lava is bubbling like crazy and flames are shooting up into the air.  A large ball of flame rises from the lava and it slides down slowly revealing the dragon’s head and then body.  Flynn cannot believe what he is seeing with his own eyes.  Emerging unscathed from the fire stands before him a large, red dragon with gold markings on its underbelly, horns and spines.  Its eyes are as black as night, with only a tinge of red visible.  It cranes its neck forward toward Jiya, stopping a few feet from her.  The dragon inhales her scent, then lets out a loud chuck and moves in closer.  Flynn is just as frozen as she is, afraid to move a muscle for fear they’ll become its lunch.  It leans in closer to Jiya and makes a faint cooing sound.  She reaches out with her hand and touches the side of its face.  The cooing becomes louder when she does this and the tension in Jiya’s body begins to lessen. 

“He’s bonding with you.  This is excellent.  He will allow you to be his rider, I believe.”

“How will I know if he’ll let me?” Jiya questions.

“He’ll throw you off of him if he won’t,” Una answers.

“Lovely,” Flynn mutters.

“Jiya, will you allow me to share your body so that I can get out of here?” Una asks.

“Yes, of course.”

“Thank you,” Una replies.

She collapses back into a column of water and hurls herself at Jiya, soaking her from head to toe.  When Jiya glances back at him, her eyes glow a bright green and then fade back to her normal dark brown.

“Jiya!  Are you okay?”

“I-I’m fine, actually.  Una’s in here with me, I can feel her power.  It’s like ice water running through my veins.”

“Okay, now that we have her, can we get out of here?”

The heat is really getting to him right now and he feels the dragon eyeing them both up and down learning and evaluating.  They both slowly turns their heads towards the dragon, who is just sitting there looking at them. 

“You truly believe we’re just going to ride him out of here?”

The dragon grunts and sidles closer to Flynn in disapproval.

“Not if you keep acting like that,” Jiya teases.

The dragon turns back towards her and lowers its wing and head down to the ground.  Jiya tentatively inches towards the wing, gingerly grabs ahold of one of its spines and climbs up.  Flynn watches her in amazement.  _Damn, she is one brave woman.  He wouldn’t have been that calm.  He still isn’t calm._

Jiya settles in on the dragon’s back and leans down, stretching her arm out to him.  He’s afraid to climb on the dragon, but of course doesn’t want to show it, so he takes a deep breath and climbs up behind Jiya.  The dragon moves before he’s settled and he grabs onto her with all his might.

“Ouch!” Jiya hisses.

“Sorry.”

The dragon backs up slightly and lifts its head skyward as it spews fire.  Rock and dust crumble and fall around them, as the dragon spreads its wings and flies into the air.

 


	29. The Pact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy learns something new about herself as she attempts to complete her mission. Emma revels in her newfound power. Amy finds she’s not quite ready to assume the mantle of responsibility. Wyatt has to burn another bridge in an effort to keep Jessica safe. Jiya shows off her new riding skills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're all enjoying reading this as much as I'm enjoying writing it.
> 
> Amy references Wyatt in her POV part of this chapter, but he's not currently at the castle. She's referencing the period of time before he left. I wanted to make that clearer to people (thanks mathgirl).

**_The Sea of Cahill_ **

As Lucy’s hand touches the flame, she feels more than the normal burning sensation.  The heat is surging through her body as if she has literal lava flowing in her veins.  She pulls her hand back and winces at the nasty burn and unremitting pain.  The salamander promises he’ll heal her and she intends to make the lizard keep its word.  Fortunately, the searing pain slows to a dull numb a moment later and then dissipates completely.  The only trace of the burn is a small, red, lizard-shaped scar on her palm.  _Thanks for that_.  Now that the salamander is inside her, she only has one more thing to do before they can all leave.

She swims down to the bottom of the concentric circles of water and releases a latch.  Lucy watches as the bottom of the pool drops down into a sea cave.  The water level comes to her chest, so at least she can still breathe.  As she turns around, she almost loses it completely.  There, in the corner, is a sleeping dragon.  Well, at least that’s what she thinks, as all she can view is a large, reptilian eye peeking out of a horde of gold.  The sylph informs her she’s going to have to do this on her own and she’s left in charge of her own body once again.  She creeps towards the slumbering beast and it stirs slightly as it senses her movement. 

“Use your magic,” the sylph says internally to Lucy.

“I don’t have any.”

“Yes, you do.  You’ve always had it.  It’s in your blood.  Place your hand on the beast and wake him.”

Lucy moves even closer and she can see the dragon’s nostrils flaring as it breathes.  It’s sleeping or in some sort of trance and she shuts her eyes and places her hand on its head.  _Here goes nothing_.  The dragon’s scales are hard as steel, its own plated armor.  She concentrates hard and can actually feel the energy field surrounding the dragon.  Her fingers spark as she touches it and it dissipates into nothingness.  His scales are blue with silver markings and they shimmer like the waters of Sandbank Bay.  He stirs under Lucy’s touch and a pair of ruby red eyes open and stare back at her.  The dragon stands, his coat of golden coins slipping off his scales as he does.  It takes a long sniff of her, but then moves it head away. 

“He’s not bonding with you.  We’ll need to use magic to get him home.  We need to find his rider,” the sylph informs her.

 _Great, now can we get out of here?_   That’s really all Lucy wants right now, but the sylph and salamander do not appear to be cooperating at the moment.  She can hear the two of them arguing inside her head about which one should be in charge and Lucy’s starting to get a headache.  It’s a tug-of-war between two powerhouses and her body is the damn rope.  She’s sweating one second, then chilly the next and the incessant yelling is making it harder and harder to focus.  _They really don’t have time for this._  

“Enough!” Lucy screams.

Both elementals stop yelling, as Lucy’s outburst is definitely shocking to them. 

“I’m going to be in charge and that’s the end of it.  Now, I’m going to climb on that dragon and we’re getting out of here. The sylph will take control until we reach the surface and I’m able to breathe on my own and the salamander will regain its strength in the meantime.  Do I make myself clear?”

The sylph and salamander agree to her terms and she mounts the dragon without hesitation.  _She is very proud of her bravery, thank you very much_.  The sylph takes over once again and they fly out of the cave and through the water.

**_Crimson Rock_ **

The locals go about their daily routines, unaware of the impending doom that looms on the horizon.  The fishermen and crabbers push the catch of the day, piles of wheat are delivered to the castle kitchens, and chickens roost and lay their eggs.  Suddenly, the skies darken and a blustery breeze flows from the northern mountains.  An intense squall descends over the castle and surrounding countryside.  A high-pitched scream roars across the sky and the soldiers of House Whitmore strain their necks upward in vain.  White is all they can see, until the sky is alight in blue flame.  The castle occupants and townsfolk scream and run for shelter, but it’s no use.  The dragon’s flame is freezing and killing everything and everyone in its path.  After a few minutes, silence blankets over the area.  Emma’s control over the dragon has completely decimated the entire population of Crimson Rock, yet she feels not a drop of remorse.  In fact, she is as giddy as a child over her newfound power.  She thought all was lost, but this power is the greatest weapon ever.  She will rule Ritten in its entirety and the rest of the world is now powerless to stop her.  _In fact, why stop at Ritten?  She could rule the entire world._

Bodies litter the ground, both human and animal, as Emma lands the dragon on the small bridge in the front of the castle.  She dismounts the dragon and strolls to the castle gates.  Slowly, she raises her arms in the air and the bodies of the dead begin to twitch and spasm.  As her arms reach over her head, the eyes of the dead pop open, bearing the same icy blue as her own.  Like dominoes they rise to their feet, blank expressions plastering their faces.  She flicks her wrist and the unarmed dead locate weapons of their own and rejoin the formation.  Some of the soldiers mount the re-animated horses, and they lead the throngs of dead through the castle gates towards her.  Emma turns and mounts the dragon.  She takes flight as the horde of dead shuffle through the heavy snows after her. 

**_Rittenfell_ **

Amy is doing her best to keep it together, but she’s struggling.  Her entire family is gone, except for her sister, but she lost her momentarily as well, and she still could lose her in the future.  The revelation that she is not her father’s daughter is also weighing heavily on her.  There’s also the fact that she is now the Lady of Rittenfell, responsible for the day-to-day dealings of the castle, as well as for the well-being of the residents of The Glen.  She has not prepared for this in the slightest, always assuming her greatest responsibility would be managing a household.  Yet, that is exactly where she finds herself now, and she needs to pull herself together for the people’s sake at least.

With the king out of residence at the moment, no one can question her authority as Lady of Rittenfell, but she’s grateful for the assistance that Sir Connor and Rufus have been providing.  She does not know them very well at all, but they are the king’s men.  She became quite close with the king after Lucy’s brief demise.  She still doesn’t like Wyatt, but as long as he and Jessica just stay in their room, she tolerates their presence.  The experience is isolating to say the least, and Aevin Bruhl has reached out to her a few times, extending an olive branch of friendship.  They have a great deal in common, both having leadership thrust upon them before either were truly ready.  He’s lost his father and his sister was kidnapped by her crazy aunt and uncle, which gives him no reason to trust her whatsoever, yet he still seems to.  They’ve never met before, seeing the two families were at odds for some time.  Plus, her interactions with outsiders were severely limited after her parents moved to the capital.  It is clearly visible that Aevin is related to Jessica, both having similar facial features, brown eyes and sandy-blond hair.  He’s tall like his father, has a thin build and is _very_ good-looking.  He is also one of the few that is privy to her newfound bastard status, yet continues to treat her the same as he has since they first met.  He’s also been useful in keeping Jessica and Wyatt in check and she is most grateful for that indeed. 

They are dining in the great hall when servants advise her of a visitor who requests an audience with the Lady of Rittenfell.  She cannot see a way to refuse the request and informs the staff to bring forth the visitor. 

A few minutes later, the servants bring a man into the great hall.  He stands in the middle of the hall staring straight ahead at the high table.  Amy was expecting a northern lord or even common folk, but not this.  The man that stands before her is wild-looking, his beard black as night and unkempt, his clothes comprising of ragged old furs.  He is a large man, probably at least as tall as the king, but stouter.  She has never met one of them, but she’s heard enough tales to know who this man is.  What she does not understand is why a Goran would be calling upon her. 

“You stand in the presence of Lady Preston.  My lady, may I present Jorsten, leader of the Goran,” a servant announces.

“What can I do for you good sir?” Amy questions.

“My lady, the tomb has been opened and the scourge unleashed.  I am here to warn you.  You need to mount a defense.  If you have somewhere to hide, I suggest you go.  The dead will be here in less than three days time.”

“The dead?” Amy asks.

“Yes, my lady.  I know it seems bat-shit crazy, but it’s true.  We’ve been tasked with guarding the tomb for centuries and for centuries we have done just that.  It was the bargain we struck with your ancestors.”

“Forgive me Jorsten, but I am not aware of any such pact.”

“I doubt you would, my lady.  This arrangement was made with a Lady Lucy Preston many centuries ago.  We have held up our end of the bargain for as long as we could, but now it is time for House Preston to hold up theirs.  The bargain we struck included an oath that House Preston would shelter the Goran and fight alongside them if the scourge was ever released.  I’ve come to ask you honor the pledge of your ancestors.”

At first Amy thinks he’s putting her on, because as he put it, it sounds bat-shit crazy.  The look of desperation on this man’s face, however, tells her he’s most serious.  She wishes her sister or the king were here, because she does not feel even remotely qualified to decide this on her own. 

“I will honor the pledge of my ancestors.  House Preston will fight alongside the Goran as promised.  You may bring your people here to shelter in the meantime.  Do you have any idea what can kill what is already dead though?  I don’t know how we can defend ourselves against them if traditional weapons will be of no use.”

“The minions of dead can be killed by fire, dragonsteel or shadowglass.  As for the scourge and her dragon…”

“Dragon!  What dragon?  They’ve been extinct for millennia,” Amy questions.

“The ancients entombed a frost dragon to guard the scourge for eternity.  She now has control of the beast.”

“We don’t have dragonsteel or shadowglass here,” Amy answers with a panicky tone.

“If I may, my lady,” Aevin interjects, “We have a large deposit of shadowglass on Shadowspear.  I can have my men begin to mine it immediately.”

“Lord Bruhl, as much as I appreciate the offer, three days is not enough time to mine the glass, fashion it into weapons and transport it here.  We need to evacuate the castle.  We need to find somewhere to hide.  If they can’t find us, they can’t kill us.  That will give us time to mine the glass,” Amy replies. 

 _It would give us time for the king or her sister to return, anyone better suited to be in charge_. 

“A wise decision indeed, my lady,” Sir Connor chimes in.  “Where do you propose we can go to hide?  Rittenfell is the largest structure in The Glen.  We will not make it to Shadowspear in three days and the only other castles are held by our enemies.”

Amy is silent.  She has no idea what to do or where to go, but she has to do something. 

“I know where we can go,” Rufus yells over the frantic conversations.  “We can go to Aurelia.”

“My boy is a genius!” Sir Connor exclaims.

“Can we make it there in three days?” she questions.

“We can if we leave now and travel light.”

“Order the evacuation immediately then.  If we do nothing, we die.”

Servants scramble to get out the word and Amy and the others begin to pack a bag.  They need to leave as soon as possible.  Once again, she has to flee for her life from her own home.  _She really needs to rethink living here.  Maybe the king will let her move to the capital after this._   Amy also needs to leave a message for Lucy, Jiya and Flynn somewhere that will not be seen by their enemy.  She orders a servant to bring her ink and parchment and scribbles one word onto it: Aurelia.  Amy herself takes the sealed scroll down to the crypts and hides it where she knows only Lucy will think to look.

She joins the others at the castle gates two hours later and leads the procession south.  Aevin accompanies her, along with a few of his men, and Sir Connor, Rufus, Kevin, Wyatt and Jessica ride behind them.  Those that own horses are either riding them or have them pulling carriages and carts, and the remainder of the townsfolk are on foot.  This will not be an easy journey, and there is no guarantee they can make it to Aurelia before the dead catch up with them.  After all, the dead do not rest.

**_The Sea of Cahill_ **

Wyatt watched Lucy enter the water over an hour ago and she has not resurfaced since then.  Bam is urging him to just leave her, as no one could possibly survive that long underwater.  But, he hasn’t seen what Wyatt has when it comes to Lucy, and he orders his friend to wait a while longer.

A few minutes later, the boat begins to rock back and forth with force.  The waves smash against the bow.  Large bubbles appear in the water near the shoreline, and he almost falls over completely when a dragon shoots out of the water and into the skies above.  Bam and the sailors scurry about the ship in search of harpoons and anything else they can use as a weapon.  Wyatt stands where he is, mouth gaping wide open, as he realizes that Lucy is riding said dragon.  She maneuvers the dragon lower until it is parallel with the ship.

“Wyatt, will your pirate friend sail you back to Rittentown?  We can meet and then head to Rittenfell from there.”

Wyatt’s mouth is still open, but words are not spewing forth whatsoever. 

“ _Wyatt?”_

He continues to stare at the dragon, as Bam and the sailors calm down and stand next to him.  None of them have ever seen a real life dragon and their curiosity is now apparent.  The dragon eyes them warily, as the sailors still hold harpoons and weapons.  Then it lets out a high-pitched scream.  The force of the beast’s breath knocks them all to the deck and they scramble back on their hands in a vain attempt to escape.  If the dragon unleashes its fire, there will be nowhere to escape to.

“I’ll-I’ll meet you there,” he finally stammers.

Lucy shakes her head, then says something to the dragon in a language he does not understand.  He watches in awe as the dragon flaps its wings and soars off into the skies, disappearing behind the cloud cover a moment later.  Wyatt watches the skies for a few more minutes before he realizes Bam and his crew are heading in the wrong direction.

“Hey!  Where are you going?  I need to get back to Rittentown to meet Lucy.”

“Logan, I’m not going anywhere near her or that _thing_ ,” Bam answers, as they unfurl the sails.

Wyatt doesn’t really want to go either, if he’s being honest with himself, but Jessica is still back at Rittenfell.  If they meet at Rittentown he might be able to get a better sense of how much of a threat the dragon is before they go back to the castle.  Bam’s been his friend for a long time.  They grew up together, sailed together and fought together.  He really doesn’t want to ruin that friendship.  He’s already burned enough of them in his quest to rescue Jessica, what the hell is one more?  He stealthily unsheathes his dagger, grabs Bam from behind and places the blade to his throat.

“Have your men turn the damn boat back around or they’ll find themselves swimming home.”

“Logan, are you fucking mad?” Bam shrieks.

“My _wife_ is back there.  You think I’ll just leave her in harm’s way?”

Bam should know him better than that.  His world has revolved around Jessica since the moment he laid eyes on her. 

“Fine!  You better pay me handsomely though,” Bam huffs.

Wyatt lowers the knife and Bam gives the orders to the crew to turn around and head for Cahilla.  They have to go there first in order to access the River Keynes and sail to Rittentown.  Bam can let him off there and then Wyatt can go to wherever his heart desires.  He can always hitch a ride north to Rittenfell from there.

**_The Dunes_ **

_Jiya is way too calm about all this._ It appears from his limited observations that she’s enjoying this a little too much, though her back is still to him.  How she learned how to ride a dragon in such a short amount of time, he’ll never know.  He’s still gripping onto her with all his might, and almost loses his grip completely as Jiya dives the dragon down towards the ground.  The wind is rushing by his face at a blistering pace, and he’s really starting to think she’s messing with him on purpose.  The force of the wind makes it hard for him to see, and he wonders if Jiya is going to crash them into a tree or mountainside.  Thankfully, they’re still in The Dunes, so trees are pretty much out.  Jiya pulls up on the dragon’s spines and they level off from their death spiral as they circle Castle Christopher.  The dragon lets out a high-pitched scream to announce its presence and lands in a clearing in front of the castle gate.  A few errand spears come flying in their direction, until Jiya yells up and they recognize her. 

Flynn wants to kiss the ground.  Normally, he would get an adrenaline rush from something like that, but that was a bit much.  Maybe if he would’ve been the one flying it…

A few moments later, the gates open and Denise walks through them at a brisk pace.  She hugs her daughter, curtsies for him and eyes the dragon the entire time.

“ _Jiya?”_

“Mom, isn’t this incredible?  I’m a dragonrider!” Jiya exclaims with a wide smile and bright eyes.

Denise is standing there expressionless, clearly in complete shock.  Then she peers deeper into her daughter’s eyes and takes a step back.

“You’re not just my daughter.  What are you?”

Jiya’s eyes flash that brilliant green and Una introduces herself.  Denise is as hospitable as she can be in the moment, but undoubtedly has concern for her daughter’s well-being.  She turns to Flynn and he hopes and prays Denise doesn’t blame him for this mess.

“Your Grace, what is your opinion on this elemental and-and beast?” Denise asks.

“Lady Marri, Una has been honorable thus far.  She has allowed Jiya to remain in charge of her own body, which is more than I can say for the one Lucy has to bear.  As for the dragon…”

“His name is Blaze,” Jiya interjects.

Flynn rolls his eyes.  _Now she’s named it.  Great._   Denise still isn’t quite sure how to react to all this, and Flynn is powerless to help her since he’s still unclear how to feel himself.

“We can’t stay long.  I just stopped for some food and water.  We need to get to Shadowspear as soon as possible,” Jiya advises.

“Lady Marri, do you have a horse I can borrow?” Flynn pleads, as he glances over at Denise.

“We don’t have time for that, Your Grace.”

“I’m not getting back on that thing,” he declares.

“I don’t blame you, Your Grace,” Denise answers with a half-smile.

“Flynn, get on the damn dragon!” Jiya yells.

Denise’s mouth drops open and her eyes widen at her daughter’s impropriety.  He cannot believe she just addressed him like that.  _Jiya’s been hanging out with Lucy too much._  

“Pardon me, Your Grace.  If you want to save Lucy, you’ll get on Blaze.  We need to get to Shadowspear to free the other elemental as quickly as possible.”

“Fine!  I’ll get on it if you agree to fly normal.  No more circles or diving.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Jiya answers with a huff.

They enter the castle and take refreshment for a little while before they need to depart once more.  Jiya mounts the dragon first and he climbs on behind her reluctantly.  The dragon takes a few steps, flaps its wings and into the air they soar once again.

 


	30. The Riddle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flynn and Jiya travel to Shadowspear to free the last of the elementals. Wyatt arrives back at Rittentown, as the army of the dead close in on the evacuees. Lucy and Emma have an epic showdown.

Jiya is slightly more forgiving to him on their flight to Shadowspear.  They land along the beach, as the residents flee at the mere sight of the dragon.  Flynn almost slips off and he swears the dragon did it on purpose.  _At least he’s on firm ground again._

“Alright, my lady.  Let me know when you’re done.  I’ll be waiting right here for you.”

“What?  You have to come with me, Your Grace.”

“You don’t need me.  You have Una and _Blaze_.”

Jiya shoots him a look that reminds him of Lucy so much it’s uncanny.  She bends her head down and when she peers back up at him, her eyes glow green.  The transition to the undine being in charge does not appear to be violent or painful, unlike poor Lucy, which makes him respect Una. 

“I will need your assistance with this one my king.  Gnomes can be…difficult to say the least.”

“You need me to protect you from a _gnome?_ ”

“Protect?  Heavens no.  Potentially coerce is more appropriate.”

He really does not want to do this.  Yet, so far everything she’s said has come true, so who is he to doubt Una now?

“Remember why you are doing this.  You need to save your people, save your queen.  There is no other way.”

Lucy.  Just the mere mention of her name kicks him into gear and he nods his head in silent assent.  He’s not used to all these mystical beings and quests.  He’s a soldier.  Give him a target and an enemy and point him in their direction.  He much prefers a head-on fight over all this sneaking around anyway. 

Unfortunately, Jiya’s aerial antics have drawn attention to them on the beach, and a few guards from Shadowspear run up on them with swords in hand.  Thankfully, one of them recognizes Jiya and they sheathe their swords after she tells them who he is.  The soldiers beg his apologies, and one of them runs to inform his captain of the king’s arrival. 

About ten minutes later, the captain of the guard sprints out to greet the king.

“Your Grace, we were not expecting you.  My lord is not at Shadowspear at the moment, but we received the raven he sent and we are mining the shadowglass as fast as possible.”

“Mining what?”

“Shadowglass…in order to fight the army of the dead that’s heading south,” the captain replies with a puzzled expression.

“I have no idea what you’re babbling about,” he answers in a huff.

The captain must have been preparing for this very scenario, so he hands him the scroll that Aevin sent to the castle.  Jiya appears as worried as he is after she reads the scroll as well. 

“Where are they evacuating to?” he questions.

“I don’t know, Your Grace.  They didn’t want to include the location in case this fell into enemy hands somehow.”

Flynn turns to Jiya, his face growing paler by the second.

“I’m responsible for the safety of this entire continent.  We need to get this done.  Where do we have to go?”

“A cave high up in the mountains above the castle,” Jiya answers.

He nods his head in response and starts to walk towards the dragon to mount him, but Blaze roars in his face and spins his body around. 

“Okay, Jiya first then.”

Jiya rolls her eyes, climbs on the dragon and reaches down to help him up.  _Here we go again._   He hopes and prays this trip will be less stressful, but it doesn’t seem likely.  They soar up and above the castle, then make an abrupt turn to the right which almost throws him off completely.  He grips the spines on the dragon’s back even harder, as they climb up into the clouds. 

The dragon lands in the only open area it can, and Flynn and Jiya dismount and begin the treacherous climb up a narrow set of stairs carved directly into the rock face.  The steps are slippery, uneven and broken, which means the ancients built this long before his family ever stepped foot on this continent. 

He has mixed feelings about the ancients.  He knows they possessed knowledge and wisdom that well surpassed the people of his time.  He also knows they’re probably responsible for this entire debacle they’ve been thrust into.  They played with magic and he’s now paying the price.  He didn’t even believe in magic until recently, and he can’t be completely against it since it brought Lucy back to life, but he doesn’t have to like it. 

Jiya and he climb to the top of the stairs.  One false move and they will easily fall to their death.  This fact becomes more problematic the higher they get.  The air is thin, it’s hard for them to breathe and their brains and concentration are lagging.  It’s an awful trifecta of symptoms, yet somehow they both manage to trudge through it.  They reach the top of the mountain and enter the cave.  A huge tree sits in the middle, its roots reaching deep into the rock below.  Directly in front of the tree is a small hole that serves as an air vent, with a swift breeze flowing through it.  A small, energy field surrounds the hole and tree, and Flynn spies the gnome stuck in the middle of it. He’s exactly what you would picture a gnome to look like, small in stature, with short arms and legs, round cheeks and a white beard. 

The gnome’s expression is about as grumpy as he currently feels.  His lungs and limbs burn from exertion, his patience wears thin and his mind wanders back to Lucy.  He needs to get back to find out what the hell is going on. He needs to get back to her most of all.  The undine takes over Jiya’s body and flashes her signature green eyes at the gnome.  He still doesn’t seem impressed and has not uttered a word since they entered the cave.  Una steps forward and stares straight into the gnome’s eyes, the green glow from her eyes the only light at the moment. 

“Gerji, it is time.”

“I will not,” the gnome replies.

“You swore a sacred oath.”

“The girl is _not_ strong enough.  This is pointless.”

“She _is_ strong enough.  And, she is not alone,” Una answers, as she tilts her head towards Flynn.

“The mercenary?  A sellsword cannot do this.”

It’s this comment that makes him realize that they’re referring to him, and for some reason he is most affronted by it. 

“Bite your tongue, _little man_.  You stand in the presence of a king.”

The gnome appears skeptical of this fact, until he glances back at Una and she nods her head. 

“We are most definitely doomed if that is the case.  Blood and brawn will not be enough.  You need brains too,” the gnome chides.

“He has brains,” Una declares.

He can feel the fury burning within him.  This little creature has now insulted him in every way possible.  He might be brutish in many respects, but he’s most definitely not dumb. 

“Does he?  You believe he is worthy?” the gnome asks.

“I know he is,” Una states with a smile.

He doesn’t like this smile.  It can only mean more trouble.

“If he is worthy, he will need both brain and brawn for this quest.  If he completes the quest, I will respect my oath,” the gnome declares.

“Quest?  What kind of quest?” Flynn questions.

“You’ll see,” the gnome responds with a wicked laugh.

Suddenly, the ground opens up beneath him and he’s sliding down, down, down.  He’s picking up speed as he falls, and he fears he’s going to smack hard whenever he hits the bottom.  He flies out of the hole, turns in mid-air and grips the edge like a cat hanging from a tree branch.  The drop below him means certain death, but he spies another ledge a few feet above him.  _Not again_. 

His fingers claw into the dirt and he grips with all his might.  He can feel the stitches on his back stretching to their limits and the pain is definitely impeding him.  He manages to reach the ledge and pull himself up.  It is pitch black, he can’t see his hand in front of his face, so he reflexively draws his sword.  He feels along the walls and finds a torch and piece of flint.  He ignites the torch and glances around.  There are two large slabs of Shadowspear’s famous black stone, otherwise known as shadowglass.  One is flat and rectangular and the other against the far wall is circular.  He passes the torch over the flat rock first and notices an inscription.  It puzzles him at first because it’s written in the common tongue, which the ancients most definitely did _not_ speak.  He has no idea what to make of this, but then remembers the gnome’s words about needing both brain and brawn in order to complete the quest.  He reads the inscription on the rock aloud, hoping it will jog his brain into understanding.

“I can break, I can be clogged, I can be attacked, I can be given, I can be kept, I can be crushed, yet I can be whole at the same time.  What am I?”

_Another fucking riddle.  What is it with these people and riddles?_   As he thinks about that, he moves to the back wall and inspects the stone there.  There are no words that are carved, but there are ancient runes similar to the ones he and Jiya saw in the caldera.  _Not another dragon.  How is he supposed to defeat a fucking dragon?_  

He shuffles back to the flat stone and stares down at the stupid riddle.  He’s never considered himself to be a scholarly man, but he did receive a royal education that most men would kill for.  _Think you idiot, think_.  His heart is racing, his breath is rapid and shallow, and he’s beginning to panic.  This is why he prefers a head on fight.  Maybe he should just take on the dragon and get it over with.  Lucy is the one who enjoys riddles and puzzles.  He doesn’t hate them per se, but they’re not what he excels in.  He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and tries to think of what Lucy would do in this situation.  He kneels down in front of the flat rock, places his hands on the black stone and looks up to the sky.

“If any of the old gods are listening right now, I pray that you bestow wisdom upon me.  I know I was raised in the light of the new gods, but ever since I met Lucy, I cannot deny your existence or your power.”

He sits that way for a few minutes, but doesn’t feel any different.  Then, a gust of wind blows through the cave and images of Lucy fill his brain.  As much as he loves her and always wants to think about her, he can’t afford to fantasize or daydream right now.  She already owns his heart, he doesn’t need her to own his brain too.  Then, it dawns on him.  The gods sent him the answer he so desperately desires, and he almost brushed it off as sex on the brain.  He stares back down at the stone and reads the riddle again.

“A heart,” he mutters.

The stone cracks and breaks, and he can see there’s some type of compartment inside.  He reaches in and pulls out an old, frayed black cloth.  He unwraps the cloth and finds a sword, unblemished by age, the blade still sharp to the touch.  It’s the most beautiful sword he’s ever seen and it feels light as a feather.  He stands and gives it a test swing, slicing through the air like he’s carving a cake.  He has read stories about dragonsteel, but no one has held a blade made of it in centuries.  Families who owned them began to hide them for fear of theft.  Wars eliminated some families altogether, taking the locations of their hidden swords to the grave, lost to time.  _Is this one of these swords?_  

He doesn’t have much time to ponder this thought as the other black stone cracks and crumbles. The only thing he can see after the dust clears is a pair of green eyes staring back at him. He stands there frozen, the dragonsteel sword still in his hands, as a huge, black dragon cranes its neck out of the hole and towards him.  It is mostly black, but does appear to sport red markings on its spines and underwings.  It opens its mouth and a ball of flame appears from two ports on either side.  He raises the sword out of reflex, but knows if it spits this fireball he’ll be a crispy critter.

The dragon draws in a gulp of air through its nostrils, then spits the fire at Flynn.  He closes his eyes knowing this is his end and there is nothing he can do about it.  A second later, he cracks one eye open and finds the sword is repelling the dragonfire.  The dragon closes its mouth and moves in even closer to inspect him.  Its green eyes stare back into his own, and then the dragon lowers its head as if it’s bowing to him.  He’s speechless, has no idea what this means or what to do, but for some reason he lowers the sword to the ground and bows as well.  It’s a sign of mutual respect that he feels compelled to commit.  The sword felt different after it absorbed the dragonfire.  He can’t describe it in words, but he’s pretty sure the old gods had something to do with it. 

He removes his old sword from his belt and replaces it with the dragonsteel.  Then, he slowly creeps towards the dragon’s side, debating if he dares to try to ride it.  At least then he won’t be subjected to Jiya’s awful flying.  The dragon bends its wing in his direction, a clear invitation to climb on.  Flynn grabs onto a spine and climbs up.  The dragon raises its head and waddles down the length of the cave towards the entrance.  It juts its head out of the cave, its talons gripping the edge, and peers down at the clouds floating below.  Flynn looks down, his eyes widening with horror, as the dragon leaps from the cave mouth.  They are dropping straight down, the wind is whipping into his face, and this is a thousand times worse than Jiya’s flying could ever be.  The dragon flaps its wings and uses its momentum to pull up into the air.

Once they level out, Flynn loosens his grip slightly and guides the dragon back up to the top of the mountain.  They reach the top and the dragon hovers at the entrance of the cave.  Jiya and the gnome stare back in disbelief.  He pets the side of the dragon’s head like he would his horse to calm it down and keep it steady.

“I’ve held up my end of the deal.  Your turn,” he yells at the gnome.

The gnome glances over at Jiya and nods.  Jiya climbs into the tree, breaking the energy field as she does, and the gnome changes into a fine yellow mist and enters Jiya’s body.  She turns back around, climbs out of the tree and stands at the edge of the cave.  Her eyes flash yellow, then change back to her normal dark brown.

“Who’s your new friend?” Jiya teases.

“No idea.  Get Blaze.  We need to get back and find out what’s going on,” he answers.

Jiya nods, agreeing that time is of the essence here.  She carefully climbs back down the stairs, mounts her dragon and takes to the skies.

**_Rittentown_ **

Wyatt sails up the River Keynes with Bam and his crew, arriving in Rittentown at supper time.  He’s never seen the small riverside town so busy before.  The line for the ferry on the northern side of the river snakes back through the town, and many of the smaller ships and boats are heading out onto the river when they should be heading back for the day.  Bam docks the boat and Wyatt exits on the northern side.  As he scans the riverbank, he spies Amy Preston directing traffic around the ferry entrance.  He strolls towards her, as he scans the area in search of Jessica. 

“Lady Preston.”

“Lord Logan.  What are you doing here?  Did you find my sister or Jiya?”

“I found Lucy.  She was supposed to meet me here.  Where’s Jess?”

“Towards the front of the caravan.  They’re heading south.  We’re moving too slowly and more and more of my people join as we pass through the towns and villages.  We’re never going to make it at this rate.”

“Then you should be at the front of the caravan too,” he informs her.

“That’s what I keep telling her,” Aevin calls, as he approaches them on horseback.

“I will not abandon my people.  I’m responsible for them.”

“Exactly, my lady. What happens to the rest of your people that are already across the river if you’re lost?” Aevin asks with an expression of great concern.

Amy does not respond and an eerie silence falls over the group.

“Has anyone actually seen this army of the dead?” Wyatt questions.

“Only the Goran,” Amy answers, as she tilts her head towards the back of the caravan where the mountain people are gathering. 

“Are you sure they’re-”

Suddenly, a shadow flies over them and the tell-tale roar of a dragon fills the air.  It lands on the outskirts of town. Wyatt, Amy and Aevin watch as Lucy dismounts the beast and glides towards them.  Her eyes are no longer brown or blue, but now glow with a violet-colored hue.  She moves with purpose, her facial expression deadly serious, as she stops a few feet from them. 

“The dead have reached the castle and are moving south.  I do not know where Emma and the dragon are though.  I have flown all over and been unable to spot them.”

“They’re moving faster than we anticipated.  We’ll never get all the people across the river,” Amy exclaims.

“We need to mount a defense here,” Lucy states emphatically. 

“We don’t have weapons that can stop them,” Aevin explains.

“We have fire and dragonfire.  Have your people dig trenches on the outskirts of town.  Fill them with wooden barricades and tar and light them.  I will patrol the sky and try to take out as many as I can until you can get them across the river.”

No one else has any better ideas, so Wyatt takes charge of the soldiers and orders them to start digging the trenches.  The townspeople that are there begin constructing the wooden barricades under Aevin’s supervision and guidance, and Amy tries to conduct the horde of scared humanity across the river as fast as possible.  The Goran have sent their women and children to board the ferry, but the men have stayed behind to help with the defense of the town. 

As night falls, the trenches have been dug, the barricades have been placed, and the tar has been poured.  They are ready to light the trenches that encircle the town, when Wyatt spots movement in the distance.  He hears howling a moment later and then the wolf pack descends on the town.  The wolves leap over the barricades and then spread out around the town next to the soldiers.  The soldiers are only there in case the dead get past the flaming trenches.  Now, they have some extra help they weren’t expecting, but are nonetheless grateful for.

The majority of the townsfolk have already been ferried across the river, with only the sickest, elderly and wounded to go.  Amy is helping an elderly couple board the ferry, when suddenly the wind picks up and it begins to snow hard.  They’re trying to light the trench, but the winds keep blowing out the flames.  Wyatt can hear movement from across the moor, the indistinct shuffling of men trudging through the snow.  The dead are coming and they still haven’t managed to light the trenches.

Lucy mounts the dragon and takes flight, as the sylph and salamander battle within her for control.  The salamander wins out, as evidenced by her glowing red eyes.  She circles the town overhead, then swoops down towards the barricades.

Wyatt hears her yell “ _drak_ ” and the dragon spews its fire, lighting the trenches.  It’s literally in the nick of time, as he can see the army of the dead closing in.  They stand on the other side of the trenches, silent and still, their icy blue eyes staring straight ahead and through his soul.  The sight is terrifying and what they’re up against begins to sink in.  He’s been through plenty of battles before, but how do you kill what’s already dead?

Lucy can see what’s going on around her, but if she’s being honest, she’s glad she’s not the one in charge right now.  An army of dead things, including horses and dogs, blanket the ground below her.  She can make out former House Whitmore soldiers and a group of dead Goran, but the bulk of the force seems to be made up of common folk from The Tundra.  _Emma turned on her own people._  

Lucy shakes the thought out of her cluttered head.  She has a job to do, which again is basically just go along for the ride, but the incessant chattering between the two elementals is making her crazy.  The salamander is in charge (he _is_ the fire elemental after all).  The dragon dives down again, and responds to the verbal command of the salamander releasing fire onto the army of the dead.  They screech and burn and fall to the ground, and Lucy turns the dragon around and makes another pass.  The dragonfire is brutally effective, and Lucy is hopeful they can take care of this problem right here and right now.

Some of the dead shoot arrows at her and the dragon as they continue to make passes back and forth, but the dragon’s hide is diamond tough.  Lucy, on the other hand, is obviously not, and the fact that she has not bonded with the dragon means he cannot sense when she’s in danger.  She’s only riding it because the elementals have control.  She luckily avoids one arrow that skims her left shoulder. 

She circles the dragon back towards the archers, hoping to eliminate the last threat to her, as she resumes her assault on the dead.  Suddenly, she catches a bright, blue light in her periphery and ducks just in time to avoid being struck by it.  She glances back over her shoulder to see what it was or where it came from, but the wind and snow blind her, and her dragon is having difficulty flying in this storm.  Another blast flies across her back and she dives down towards the town.  She can’t defend herself against something she can’t see. 

The sylph takes control of Lucy’s body, extends her arms and calms the winds down.  Across the moor, she can see Emma, or what used to be Emma, atop a white dragon.  Her skin and eyes are the same eerie blue as the dead army and so is the dragon’s.  She appears to be in complete control of the beast.  Lucy sucks in a deep breath, as she only has tenuous control of her dragon at best. 

Emma charges head-on at her, and Lucy meets her charge with a head-on assault of her own.  The two dragons are on course for a mid-air collision.  The white dragon spits its blue flame and the blue one Lucy is currently riding spits its red flame in return.  The union of fire and ice ignites the sky in a purplish hue, as neither dragon can overpower the other.  They’re at a stalemate, but still on a collision course for one another.  Lucy yanks on the dragon’s spine and pulls it to the left at the last second.  She quickly tries to turn around since her back is now exposed to Emma, and again the dragon’s blue flame misses her by mere inches. 

Lucy is inexperienced at riding a dragon as much as the elementals inside her.  Emma is much better.  She won’t be able to keep this up for much longer.  As she circles back towards the town one more time, her head on a swivel in search of Emma, the blue flame shoots towards her from behind.  She doesn’t react in time and the flame strikes her dragon’s wing and freezes it.  He tries to course correct with his other wing, as they tumble towards the earth.  The snow-covered ground is flying towards her face, and the dragon crashes down with a thunderous thud, flinging Lucy’s body into the air and over its head.  She smacks the frozen ground with a painful whack, her body groaning in protest.

She stammers to her feet and glances back.  The dragon is clearly injured, a blue film of ice covering his wing.  Her eyes flit back and forth, and she realizes she’s surrounded by the army of the dead.  She only has a small dagger for protection, but it is useless against them.  She also has to worry about Emma and the dragon attacking from above.  In other words, she’s screwed. 

 


	31. A Dance of Dragons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy fights for her life against the army of the dead. The elementals’ toll on Lucy’s body begins to rear its head. Emma enacts the next phase of her plan.

Lucy unsheathes the dagger from her belt and stands next to the dragon’s head, as the army of the dead move in for the kill.  Her dragon is her most effective weapon, but he can only blow his fire in one direction with his wing injured.

The sylph and salamander are busy freaking out inside her head and their incessant chatter is making it hard for her to think.  _There has to be something she can do.  Or, is there?  Maybe she should just jump into the dragonfire and end it all right here, right now.  Beats being some icy zombie enthralled to evil incarnate for the rest of her days._  

Her dragon is blasting away at the ice zombies, when she hears that tell-tale howling of wolves.  She squints her eyes, trying to decipher if she really does hear what she thinks.  The snow is still swirling through the air, but she spots movement in the distance.  A few seconds later, the entire wolf pack descends on the dead that surround her and the dragon and they shred them to pieces.  Their limbs are still writhing on the ground afterwards, but at least she doesn’t have to worry about being swarmed by a mob of them in the meantime.  The wolves surround her and the dragon’s back and sides, careful to avoid his flame throwing mouth.  She shields her eyes and peers up into the sky and spies Emma heading right for her at the last second.  _Okay, so ice zombies aren’t going to kill her.  Her awful aunt is going to finish her off after all._

The wolves are to her back now, as she attempts to track Emma through the blinding snow.  Emma keeps circling overhead, like a raptor toying with its prey.  The dragon and wolves are doing their part as they continue to fight the onslaught, but they’re greatly outnumbered.  Emma circles once again, then dives down at her.  Lucy ducks her head instinctively and takes a deep breath. 

Suddenly, she feels the heat of flame from behind her.  She crouches down even more, before craning her neck to see where it came from.  Lucy safeguards her eyes as she peers back through the flurry of flakes and _cannot_ believe what she sees.  Somehow, the king is riding a dragon and his flame furiously flies by towards Emma.  This also appears to give Emma as much of a shock as it does to Lucy, and she quickly veers her dragon off to the left.  His dragon is mostly black, which makes it harder for her to see him in the darkened sky.  It’s also noticeably larger than Emma’s dragon and appears to be overly aggressive.  _Sounds about right for him._   Flynn persists after her, which Lucy doesn’t begrudge, but she could use a little bit of help here.  Fortunately, help arrives in the form of Jiya, also riding a dragon.  She circles the army of the dead and unleashes a torrent of fire upon them. 

A few minutes later, Flynn circles back to the army of the dead and helps Jiya dispatch the last of them.  Lucy scans the skies for any sign of Emma, but it seems Flynn has chased her off for good.  After the dead have been torched, Flynn and Jiya land their dragons near Lucy and dismount.  He moves with purpose towards her, then stops short as their eyes meet.  Well, not her eyes.  They’re the eyes of the elementals.  She needs to remind herself to look in a mirror if they ever get back to Rittenfell.  She cannot imagine what type of hideous she is that he would recoil from her like that. 

“Lucy?”

_Yes!  I’m still here._  

“No.  Not Lucy,” the salamander growls, as it pushes the sylph to the side and takes control.

Her eyes flash from the purplish hue of the two elementals combined back to the red of the salamander.

“I want to talk to Lucy!” Flynn yells, as he takes a few steps forward.

“Later.  You need to get the people to turn around and go back to Rittenfell.”

Flynn stares back at her dumfounded.  She can’t blame him.  The words are coming out of her mouth, but she’s not saying them.  She wants to kick these two out of her and run to him right now, but she’s so tired, so weak. 

“You!” the salamander yells as it points at Jiya.  “You will take me back to Rittenfell on your dragon.  This one needs to rest and heal.”

Jiya nods cautiously and then glances over at Flynn. 

“Take her back to the castle.  I’ll stay with my people and make sure Emma doesn’t come back again.  I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay?” Flynn states to Jiya. 

“Yes, Your Grace.”

The salamander strolls right passed Flynn to Jiya’s dragon and climbs on after her.  They fly up into the darkness and disappear behind the clouds.

**_Rittenfell_ **

It’s the wee hours in the morning before everyone has made it safely back to the castle, including most of the villagers from Rittentown.  They’re safer within the confines of the castle than they are in the open, and they are trying to accommodate the extra bodies as best as they can.  The wolf pack disperses back into the woods on the way back, except for the alpha, Snow.  He has not left Amy’s side since the attack on the town, and only now separates from her once he sees Lucy. 

Amy is also very anxious to talk to her sister, but the elementals insist they must confer together before they will allow Lucy control of her body.  Lucy and Jiya disappear down the corridor to Lucy’s private chamber, and the rest of them gather in the great hall to decide the next course of action.  She feels like she’s going to break down any minute.  It’s not just the sheer exhaustion from riding for so long, but the weight of responsibility that has apparently been thrust upon her now that her sister is…something else.

The king takes a seat next to her and places his arm on her shoulder.

“You did well today, Lady Preston.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.  But, I’m not Lady Preston.  Lucy, is Lady Preston.  Lucy should be Lady Preston.”

“Well, yes, but Lucy is a little busy right now.  You’re next in line.  The last Preston, my lady.  Who better to lead your people?”

“But, I’m not and you know that,” Amy whispers.

“Idle court gossip. Nothing more,” he answers with a dismissive wave of his hand.

She appreciates the sentiment, but these things always have a way of getting out, whether you want them to or not.  Thankfully, the discussion is set aside, as Lucy and Jiya reenter the great hall.  Lucy’s eyes are purple once more, and Amy has figured out that means the two elementals are sharing control.  But, it’s not Lucy’s strange eye color that makes her do a double take, (although it’s weird enough).  It’s what she’s wearing.  It’s toward the tail end of fall seasonally, yet her sister is dressed as if she’s sunbathing in The Dunes.  Her silk dress is sleeveless and almost sheer, her hair pinned up and off her neck, while everyone else huddles around the fire in furs and wool.  Even Jiya is sensibly dressed, although her eyes are her normal brown, so she appears to be suffering the cold along with the rest of them. 

Lucy and Jiya motion to the antechamber.  Flynn, Karl, Sir Connor, Rufus, Amy, Aevin and Jorsten stand and move collectively into the room. Wyatt attempts to enter as well, but Amy tells him to stay out.  He needs to earn back trust and will not be privy to war plans until _she_ says so, as the Lady of Rittenfell. Wyatt wines that Jorsten is a virtual stranger, some mountain man that none of them know, and he gets to participate in the defense of the castle.  Wyatt’s argument falls on deaf ears.  Amy does not care right now.  She’s had enough of this man’s nonsense.

They agree to defend this castle collectively with everything they’ve got at their disposal.  Emma may have suffered defeat today, but she wasn’t someone who quit _before_ she had access to a dragon.  Aevin is tasked with mining the shadowglass and transporting it here to be fashioned into weapons.  Amy will handle having food from the surrounding regions sent here to feed the growing population and to ensure their provisions last if the castle is sieged.  Rufus is assigned to construct trebuchets like he did at the Battle of Hardstone, Sir Connor is to oversee construction of the trench and barricades and Wyatt and Karl are to train the people how to fight with spears and swords.  Not just the men either.  They need everyone to fight if the living are going to win this war.  Jiya is going to patrol the area on her dragon, while Flynn searches for Emma.  Sir Connor is _not_ happy about this part, pleading with Flynn that he’s the king and this all ends if he dies.  Lucy is going to try to find the injured dragon, as the scouts have reported he is no longer where he crashed.  Jorsten is going to take a few Goran and go back to Crimson Rock to see if there are any food stores, clothing or furs they can use since the place is now abandoned.  Jessica has been tasked with ensuring there is enough firewood, furs and warm clothes for everyone.  Kevin offers to help as well, which Sir Connor and Rufus laugh off, but Lucy decides to give him the important task of making sure the ravens are fed, their cages are clean and they are ready to fly.  Kevin is still leery of her, as this is the first time he has seen Lucy since the elementals decided to become squatters in her body, and looks to his brother before responding in the affirmative.

They all have their marching orders, and the group disbands and reenters the great hall.  Jorsten and the rest of the Goran decide they are leaving tonight, snowstorm be damned.  Wyatt and Jessica huddle together at a table near the fire with Jiya and Rufus.  Sir Connor makes sure that Kevin finishes his supper and then sends him to bed.  Everyone is exhausted from the long day, and many of the group decide to call it an early night.  This leaves Flynn, Lucy and Amy alone in the great hall.  Both of them want to speak to Lucy, and both have been waiting patiently for their audience with her.  Amy’s patience has run out completely a few minutes later, and she whirls on Lucy.

“I want to talk to my sister.  _Now_!”

“Fine!” the elementals reply.

Lucy bows her head and when she lifts it back up, her brown eyes stare back at Amy. 

“Lucy!” Amy screeches, as she runs and hugs her sister.

Lucy hugs her back, but it’s the weakest hug she’s ever received from her sister.  Amy grabs Lucy’s arms and forces her to meet her eyes.  It’s her sister, Amy knows that it is, but the sparkle and gleam are absent from Lucy’s eyes.  Amy turns around and gives the king her best puppy dog look.

“Your Grace, would you mind if I had a moment alone with my sister?”

Thankfully, he takes the hint, and bows out of the hall, but not before glancing longingly over at Lucy.  The second he closes the door, Lucy collapses into Amy’s arms.

“Lucy!  What’s wrong?” Amy asks, as she struggles to right her sister.

“Help me back to my room, will you?”

Amy nods, threads her arm around Lucy’s waist, and assists her out of the hall, down the corridor and to her chamber.  The wolf follows them to Lucy’s room, and waits until Amy has helped her into the bed before he jumps up.  He circles around so that he’s facing the door and lies down at the foot of the bed.  Amy’s still not used to this, but apparently Lucy feels better with it around, so she’s trying her best to ignore it.  As she tucks her sister into bed, she peers down at her with the utmost concern. 

“Lucy, you’re burning up,” she says, as she feels her forehead.

“I’m just warm because of the salamander.  He’s like a personal fireplace,” Lucy jokes.

“Lucy!  This isn’t good.  You look awful.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that little sister.”

“I’m serious.  What the hell are they doing to you?”

“I’m just tired from the long day.  I’m sure I’ll be better once I get some rest.  We’ll talk in the morning, okay?”

Amy doesn’t want to say yes, she wants to talk _now_ , but one glance at her sister tells her she needs rest above all else.  Lucy’s eyes are dark and sunken and she’s having trouble keeping her eyelids open.  She kisses her sister’s forehead, then turns and leaves.  She has a lot to do tomorrow, but she’s definitely checking on Lucy first thing in the morning.

Flynn exits the great hall and steps out on the battlements for a bit of fresh air.  The events of today have yet to sink in, and he tries his best to grapple with the fact that he was riding a dragon earlier.  His path to seize the throne was always going to be a bloody one, but he didn’t account for the magical and mystical forces that would exert their influence over his destiny.  He is convinced that it _was_ his destiny to meet Lucy.  Perhaps Anthony was half-right about this prophecy.  Perhaps it’s his destiny to protect and aid Lucy in this fight against evil. 

He feels like he’s allowed the sisters enough time on their own, and makes his way back inside the castle towards the great hall.  Surprisingly, he finds the hall empty.  Most of the castle is quiet except for a few guards patrolling the halls.  He still needs to talk to Lucy, so he makes his way to her chamber and gently knocks on the door.  He hears a growling noise in response, and then he hears Lucy telling him the door is open.  Her voice is barely above a whisper, and he hopes he didn’t wake her. 

He opens the door and peeks his head in.  Lucy is lying in bed, the wolf at her feet, with sweat pouring down her forehead.  She appears to be ill and his chest tightens with fear.  He cannot lose this woman again.  He _cannot_.  He rushes to her side, the wolf giving him a look before turning back to the door. 

“Lucy!  Are you okay?”

“Just tired, Your Grace.”

“Garcia.  When we’re together, please call me Garcia.”

“Garcia,” Lucy begins, as she shifts and sits up in the bed, “I’m just tired, really.  Nothing to worry about.”

_You don’t sweat like that if you’re just tired or if you’re “fine.”_ He wants to take her in his arms and hold her tight, but something seems to have changed between them.  She’s not repelling from his presence, but she’s not exactly reaching for him either.  He crouches down next to the bed and takes her tiny, delicate hand in his. 

“I will never stop worrying about you, Lucy.  Never.  I can’t stop thinking about you most of the time.”

He blushes slightly as he says it, and lowers his lids down to their hands.  He can’t face her right now, cannot see the rejection in her expression.  He knows that it’s coming.  He can feel it.  She’s going to tell him their magical night together was a mistake.

“Garcia?”

He glances back up at her finally and her expression is nothing but soft and beautiful. 

“I’m sorry I left without saying goodbye before.”

He stares back at her in shock, not quite sure how to respond to this.  He was all prepared for a rejection, and she’s giving him an apology instead. 

“Lucy, shhh, it’s alright.”

He kisses her knuckles lightly while maintaining eye contact the entire time.  She smiles back at him when he does, and he breathes a little bit better knowing she’s not outright rejecting him.  He motions towards the bed, silently asking if he can sit.  Lucy slides over and pats the bed.  It’s his turn to smile widely as he climbs in next to her.  The wolf shifts over to Lucy’s side, which gives his legs enough room to spread out now.  He can’t tell where the boundaries lie between them anymore, so he decides to wait for Lucy to either say something or do something to clue him in. 

Suddenly, a gust of wind blows over him and his whole body shivers. 

“Lucy, is your window open?” he asks, as he gets up to inspect it.

“Leave it! Please,” she begs.

He turns and looks back at her, noticing she’s sweating profusely now.  He rushes back over to her and takes her into his arms in the bed.  _Boundaries be damned!_

“Lucy, please-please look at me.”

His heart is racing, his eyes welling up with tears, as she stares back at him with a pained expression. 

“You’re burning up!  Let me get Jiya, maybe she can give you something.”

“It won’t help.  It’s the salamander’s fire that’s making me hot,” she answers calmly.

He kisses her forehead and she leans into him.  He loves her so much he just wants to take all her pain away and give it to himself.  He’s much more used to it.  He doesn’t want to let her go, but the heat emanating off her body is roasting him alive.  She snuggles up against him even more, and as hot as he is, he pulls her even closer as he kisses her lips softly. 

“I know this might be a lot to ask of you, but will you hold me tonight?” Lucy asks as her voice quivers.

_Why would holding her be a lot to ask of him?_   _He’d much rather prefer to sleep that way all the time._  

“Lucy, of course.  I love you, why would I not want to be with you?”

Lucy’s hand lifts up and cups his cheek, the warmth spreading through his body like wildfire. 

“I didn’t know if-if you still felt the same about me.”

_How can she doubt this?  How can she doubt herself like this?_ She’s the most amazing woman he’s ever met and he’s met a lot of women over the years.  He’s never been overly lascivious, but he bedded his fair share of young ladies before he married Lorena.  He was never the ladies’ man that Gabriel was, and after Lorena died he did not touch a woman for years.  Karl tried over and over to get him to enjoy the brothels of the east, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it.  There was only one woman since his wife, a tavern wench he met in Latira.  She reminded him so much of Lorena that he gave into desire for one night.  But, Lucy…Lucy is the love of his life.  He will never love anyone like he loves her.  He’s not sure of much else, but he is sure of this. 

“Lucy, I will always love you.  Nothing will ever change how I feel.  Nothing,” he responds, as he places a soft kiss to her forehead again.

She sighs softly and curls into him again, resting her head in his shoulder joint.  As much as she keeps saying she’s fine, Flynn knows that Lucy is putting on a brave face for everyone.  They need to find Emma and destroy her as fast as possible, before Lucy withers away into nothing.

A few minutes later, Flynn peers down and finds Lucy fast asleep, a melodious snore emanating from her as she slumbers.  She seems to be sleeping peacefully, which warms his heart.  The tiny snore is adorable, and he watches her rest for a long time before his own exhaustion claims him. 

**_The Watershed_ **

Emma flies her dragon east towards The Watershed.  She truly thought she would meet no opposition and decimate Rittenfell and the rest of her family in the process.  Now, she knows there are three additional dragons that her pesky niece has managed to find and release.  This complicates things to be sure.  Her army was destroyed, but she did finagle maiming one of the dragons.  She needs allies, but there are none left to be had.  Somehow, that disgrace of a mercenary king has combined all the forces in the kingdom into a single army.  They unite under a single cause, to annihilate her.

The night air is still in front of her as she continues eastward, the marshes dotting the ground beneath her.  This creature that is fusing with her very soul is ancient and powerful, yet dark and terrifying, which suits her perfectly.  She contemplates what to do next.  She’s struck with the knowledge that even though she has no allies currently, that doesn’t mean she can’t create some. 

The moon is high overhead and casts an eerie, silvery glow over the land.  She spies one of the small fishing villages that dot The Watershed up ahead and dives her dragon down for a closer inspection.  It’s the middle of the night, the villagers are all asleep and ripe for the pickings. She swoops down even lower, as the dragon lets out a burst of blue flame, which coats the village.  She circles back on the beast and lands in the center of town.  She dismounts the dragon and searches the town for survivors.  A few scramble out of homes a minute later, freezing but still breathing.  As soon as they spot her, they stop dead in their tracks.  _Fitting, since that’s what they’ll be in a few minutes._   The dragon spins its head towards them and covers them in ice.  They are frozen instantaneously and fall to the ground like stone bricks.  Again, she raises her arms in the air, and the bodies of the dead reanimate and stand at attention.  She climbs back onto her dragon, thrusts her arm up into the sky, and rejoins the cloud cover.  The newly minted dead from the village shuffle after her on foot, as they proceed east. 

Emma repeats this process for the rest of the night with every town and village she encounters throughout The Watershed.  She’s already regained half of her army back, as she heads towards The Bunker, the ancestral seat of House Neville, Wardens of the Watershed.  King Noah and most of his men may be dead, but there are still people living there that she can also “press into service.” 

The Bunker is circular and built directly into the side of the coastal ridge.  Its gray stone blends into the limestone cliffs effortlessly.  The sun rises on the horizon, as she hovers on the dragon at the fortress’ entrance.  Some of the fortress’ residents are up and about already, but most are still in dreamland.  She gives her dragon a slight kick, and he unleashes his blue flame directly into the Bunker.  Screams and cries ring out into the rose-tinted sunrise, their sounds muffled a few moments later.  The dead she collected along the way to the Bunker wait atop the cliff, and Emma resurrects the remnants of House Neville, including the former king, whose body Flynn had returned to its ancestral seat after the Battle of Rittenfell.  She instructs Noah that he will be the leader of her ground forces, and they climb the paths carved into the cliff and meet the rest of the army on the bluff.  Noah takes command of the dead and leads them south, as Emma flies overhead. 

 


	32. The Godsgarden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The residents of Rittenfell find out what Emma has been up to. Jeniah faces an unstoppable force in the capital. Flynn tries to intercept Emma before she inflicts any more damage. Jiya takes Rufus on his first dragon ride. Lucy and Flynn sneak away for a little alone time.

**_Rittenfell_ **

Lucy wakes in the early morning, the king still sleeping at her side.  She always manages to sleep better when he’s next to her.  She hates that she was so weak last night.  She promised herself that she wouldn’t lead him on, she wouldn’t be selfish about this.  She’s pretty certain she’s not going to make it out of this mess alive, and she doesn’t want to be responsible for breaking his heart, again.  It’s better to suffer in silence, stop this thing in its tracks before he falls any more in love with her.

She’s not as tired as she was yesterday, but she still feels awful.  Nausea is sweeping over her currently and it makes her question when she last ate something. She truly cannot remember, which means she needs to get something in her as soon as possible. 

She sits on the side of the bed to gather her strength, then stands.  As she does, a wave of dizziness hits her and she loses her balance momentarily and knocks into the bedside table.  The noise causes the king to shoot awake, and he worriedly glances over at Lucy.

“Lucy, are you alright?”

“I’m fine, just a little…”

Suddenly, she feels her stomach wrench, so she runs to her chamber pot and proceeds to puke her guts up.  The next thing she remembers is Garcia being next to her, holding her hair out of the way and wiping her face with a cloth.  She’s in a daze from her nausea, as well as the fact that the man she’s in love with is currently shirtless before her and that’s distracting.  He’s petting her hair, trying to soothe her, when her chamber door opens and Amy bursts on in. 

“Lucy!” she screams, as she rushes towards them.

“I’m alright.  I think I’m finally done,” Lucy answers, as she sits down on the floor.

Amy and the king exchange a concerned look and she knows she’s not being very convincing. 

“I just need to eat.  I don’t remember the last time I did.”

“Well then…we’ll just have the cooks whip you something up as soon as possible,” Amy states, as she helps her sister to her feet with the king’s assistance.  They sit Lucy back down on the edge of the bed.  Garcia grabs his shirt and boots, puts them back on, and bows out of the room gracefully, leaving the two sisters alone.

“Lucy, what’s really going on?” Amy asks, as soon as the door shuts.

“I don’t know Ames.  It’s not like there’s a guidebook for this.  The elementals keep telling me that this is normal, that the human body isn’t meant to have this type of power within it, so I’m going to have some side effects.  I guess this is just one of them.”

There’s not much Amy can say in return, but she does help Lucy get dressed and guide her to the great hall.  Lucy is seated at the high table with the king and Amy as the servants deliver breakfast.  Lucy starts by taking small bites of her warm bread, praying that the nausea will subside once she gets some food in her system.  A servant enters the hall with an expression of worry on his face a few minutes later. 

“Lady Preston, we are receiving an influx of common folk from The Watershed.  They claim they were attacked by a dragon.”

Amy, Lucy and Flynn all shoot each other looks, and Amy asks that they send in a representative so that they may question them.  The servant disappears and returns a few minutes later with a man slightly older than the king, with salt-and-pepper hair.  He explains that Emma and the dragon wreaked havoc in The Watershed throughout the night and then the Bunker this morning.  Survivors are sparse, but those that still breathe are making their way to Rittenfell to seek refuge.  They are willing to pledge their fealty to the king in exchange for sanctuary.  The king and Amy agree, but the second the man leaves the three of them glance at each other again. 

“Emma has an army again.  If we don’t stop her, she’s going to kill this entire continent.  When will the shadowglass be ready for transport?” Flynn asks Amy.

“Lord Bruhl informed me this morning that the first batch is being loaded into wagons as we speak.”

“We need to protect the wagon train.  If Emma attacks the shadowglass…” Lucy muses.

“I agree.  We also need to send ravens to the rest of the realm that they should evacuate to Rittenfell.  They said Emma and the dead were last seen heading south, which means she’s planning to attack the capital.”

“How many people live in the capital would you say, Your Grace?” Amy questions.

“A million, give or take.”

“They’ll be a million more soldiers in the army of the dead if we don’t do something,” Lucy declares with frustration.

“I’ll send Jiya to supervise the transport of the shadowglass from Shadowspear and I’ll take Maelstrom to the capital and try to stop Emma from attacking.  Hopefully, Jiya can join up with me later.  It’s not going to be easy.  I’d prefer to have both of our dragons so Jiya and I can watch each other’s backs, but I understand how important the shadowglass is.”

“Maelstrom?” Lucy and Amy ask simultaneously.

“It’s the dragon’s name.  I didn’t get a choice in the matter, but I think it fits both of us,” he states with a shrug.

They sit in silence for a while, all very aware of the daunting task that lies before them.  They need to save as many people as they can before they all become members of the army of the dead.  They finish breakfast, trying their best to ignore the palpable tension in the room.  She knows Flynn wants to go on the attack, but no one can say for certainty if dragonfire will actually kill Emma.  Therefore, defense is their only option at this point.

**_King’s Keep_ **

Jeniah stares over the balcony in the queen’s chamber into the garden below.  The sun shines brightly, a slight breeze blows and rustles the trees, and the fall foliage has begun to turn brilliant yellows, oranges and reds.  Her life here is comfortable, but predictable and boring.  Not that she particularly misses her betrothed, but at least things were never dull between her and Garcia.  She’s positive that if she can just get rid of Lucy and get him alone, she can work her womanly wiles.  No other man has ever been able to resist her, why should he?  She’s been wracking her brains to come up with a reason to get him back here.  It’s not lost on her that the king is spending his time at Lucy’s ancestral home, and if she’s not careful, she can have the crown stolen right out from under her. 

Her eyes flick to the horizon, as she spies what appears to be a storm off in the distance.  It’s moving faster than it should, and apparently she’s not the only one who see this, as the bells begin to ring out in the city.  People are running and taking shelter.  She’s not exactly sure what to expect.  She was born and lived most of her life in the east, where it never snows.  She’s heard that it can snow here, but that it’s very rare, only covering the northern portions of the continent during the winter. 

Her guards bid her to come inside from the balcony, as snow begins to fall heavily from the skies above.  The castle’s gates are closed and the city gates follow suit not long after.  Jeniah makes her way to the throne room, her retinue in tow, and seats herself upon the throne.  Some of the soldiers of House Flynn give her stray looks, but no one dares to tell her she can’t sit there for fear of her retribution.

The wind is howling and screeching outside and Jeniah starts to get nervous.  She only trusts her own men.  None of the men Garcia left behind will most likely lift a finger to defend her, given the option.  The screeching noises grow louder and louder, as soldiers rush into the throne room gasping for breath.

“My-my lady.  It’s-It’s…”

Suddenly, the windows blast out and shatter into a million pieces onto the throne room floor.  The glass has been frozen solid, and the bitter cold rushes into the room with a fervent ferocity.  The room fills with the sounds of swords clanking and people screaming from the town below.  Jeniah’s guards gather closer to her, and she’s visibly shaking with fear.  The soldier can’t even speak to tell them what’s happening, and the next thing she knows the roof is collapsing overhead.  Her guards push her towards the door, and half of them are crushed by a huge chunk of brick a moment later.  A large, white dragon flies by the hole in the roof, and Jeniah and her men freeze in terror.

After a few minutes, one of the remaining guards grabs her arm and leads her towards the stairs.  The castle crumbles around them as they descend the stairs, but they manage to make it down from the upper levels.  Chaos ensues all around them, as the dragon continues its onslaught from above.  They make it to the central courtyard, when they encounter men with a bluish tinge to their skin, hacking and slashing their way through the last bastion of castle guards.  Some of them are missing limbs or skin, and she screams with all her might as they rush towards them.  She hears her dress tear and then sharp pain hits her all over and the world goes dark.

As Flynn approaches the capital, the weather begins to take a turn for the worse.  He knows this means Emma’s ahead of him already.  He just hopes he can get there in time to stop this atrocity from happening.   He decides to lead the dragon to the coast, as the storm seems stronger inland.  He can use it to his advantage and come up through the harbor.  Emma won’t be expecting him to come from the sea. 

As he turns the dragon into the harbor, he spies the ships docked, yet devoid of passengers or crew.  Cargo is left boxed and unloaded, some strewn about as if the residents just abandoned everything and disappeared.  Blood stains a portion of the dock, but no more than is normally present from the fishermen’s daily catch.

He pulls up slightly and soars over the lower portion of the city.  Normally, the city would be crawling with people, but it’s as empty as an ancient ruin.  No blacksmiths, fishmongers, soldiers, tavern wenches, children; just empty.  Hoarfrost covers hovels, as well as the homes of wealthier merchants.  Snow and ice blanket the streets, with puddles of crimson sprinkled every few feet. 

Flynn drops down lower, almost scraping the tiled roofs with the dragon’s belly to get a better look.  He lands the dragon on a broken bell tower and glances around.  The red stains are most certainly blood, but there is not a body to be found.  _He’s too late._  

He cranes his neck and peers up at the castle.  Two of the smaller towers have crumbled completely, and most of the upper levels of the keep are enveloped in ice.  He turns the dragon and heads towards the keep.  If there are survivors (he really hopes there are), they most likely will be afraid of the dragon and remain hidden.  He lands the dragon in the castle’s main courtyard and dismounts, keeping his head on a swivel the entire time.  He unsheathes his new dragonsteel sword and furtively sneaks into the castle. 

The scene is essentially the same inside as it was in the town below; blood without bodies.  It’s only then that he thinks of Jeniah.  He has no clue if she made it out of the castle, but the odds are not looking good. 

He makes his way upstairs to his old chamber and collects a few things of sentimental value.  It’s not much, but some of these things are the last reminders of his family.  He’s hidden the small box of valuables inside a brick he hollowed out in the king’s chamber.  Most of it contains the small amount of jewelry his mother was able to take with her, but it also contains a dagger with a jeweled hilt that his father gave him when he was a young man.  He had planned to give the jewelry to Lucy if they ever married, but had no intention of handing it over to Jeniah.  If he was forced to marry that awful woman and had children with her, he would have given it to one of them.

He hurries back down the stairs to the courtyard and climbs back on Maelstrom.  He’s pissed that he was too late, but by the looks of things, he wouldn’t have been able to stop the carnage even if he was here.  Emma didn’t kill all these people herself, her army of dead did.  He can only burn and kill so many of them at a time, which means that innocent people would’ve died no matter what.  _What a lousy king he’s turned out to be.  He can’t even protect his own family and loved ones, let alone his people._  

He decides that he needs to help Jiya secure the shadowglass on route to Rittenfell.  It’s their only hope of stopping this.  As he flies west from the capital, he sees the snowstorm off in the distance.  Emma and her minions are moving fast, which means they will _not_ have a lot of time. The dead don’t sleep, rest or eat like the living need to, which means they’re covering more ground and will arrive in the southernmost portion of The Glen within a day.  At that point, the army can either march south to The Dunes, west to The Knoll or further north towards Rittenfell.  There’s no way to predict what Emma will choose to do, so they need to prepare for each and every scenario.  He directs the dragon to fly north instead, and climbs above the clouds for cover.

**_Rittenfell_ **

Rufus needs a break.  He’s already constructed a dozen trebuchets and ballistas, so his job is pretty much done at the moment.  He glances around the hall and finds Lucy sitting by herself.  He strides over to her and she barely flinches when he waves his hand in front of her face.  _He hates to say it, but she looks like shit._  

“Walk with me,” Lucy states, as she slowly stands from her chair. 

Rufus obliges her and extends his arm.  She takes it gracefully and the two of them glide out of the hall.

“Where are we going?”

“Do you mind escorting me to the Godsgarden?”

“I have no idea what that is, but sure!” Rufus beams back.

They stop at Rufus’ chamber and grab a fur-lined cloak.  Lucy explains that she doesn’t require one and the cold air will actually be somewhat of a relief.  She leads him down the stairs and out a back door.  They trudge through the snow arm in arm.  They pass the greenhouse and stroll to a garden with a small pond.  The wolf tails behind them, frolicking in the flakes as it embraces its natural environment.  The garden is still within the castle proper, the walls visible off in the distance, but it is outside, which means that it’s cold and snow-covered.  Next to the pond stands a huge birch tree.  It’s the largest Rufus has ever seen (not that that’s an extensive sample size), and he thinks it may be as old as the castle itself.  Some of the trees, including the birch, retain some of their leaves, and the brilliant reds, fiery oranges and flaxen yellows are sprinkled with a sugary splotching of snow. 

“I…didn’t know this place existed,” Rufus confesses.

“It’s a little off the beaten path.  It’s where the Ritten Kings worshipped long ago,” Lucy replies, as her hand skims up the birch’s trunk.

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

Lucy laughs as she leans against the tree.  He likes to make her laugh.  He likes to make people laugh in general, but this woman saved his life at the Battle of Hardstone and most importantly, she’s his friend.  Making her laugh is the _least_ he can do.  Lucy never answers his question, as she slumps down the tree trunk and sits on an exposed root.  The wolf comes and lays down in the snow in front of her.  She motions for him to sit with her, and he’s suddenly filled with dread that this is not going to be a conversation he’s going to like.

“Rufus?  Promise me that if you make it through this war you’ll ask Jiya to marry you.”

He coughs and his mouth gapes open, completely floored by what just came out of Lucy’s lips.

“What?”

“Promise me you’ll marry her.  You love her right?” Lucy questions.

“I-of course I do!  But, Lucy, I can’t ask her to give up her life’s work for a man like me.  I have nothing to offer her.  I’m only the king’s advisor, not a wealthy lord with a pedigree.”

“Jiya doesn’t need to marry a wealthy lord.  She’s rich already.  As for giving up being a healer, Garcia said he would change the rules.”

“He what?”

“Please, don’t act so surprised.  He’d do just about anything for his little sister,” Lucy chuckles.

They sit in silence for a few minutes and then he glances over at her.

“Why do you care so much, Lucy?”

“Someone deserves a happy ending,” she whispers.

If he hadn’t been right next to her, he wouldn’t have heard her.  He ponders her statement for a minute.  It must be downright awful to be in love with someone that’s engaged to someone else. 

“Don’t give up, Lucy.  You and His Grace can still have a happy ending.  He’ll think of something to get out of that marriage.  I’ve known him a long time. I can tell you from experience that he’s as stubborn as a mule, but as genius as the wisest sage.  Grant it, it’s hard to believe at times, but it’s true.  He’ll find some loophole in an ancient tome somewhere and use it to either break his engagement or argue for your marriage.”

“That brings me to the other thing I need you to promise.  Although, come to think of it, you never promised the first thing I asked.  Are you trying to prey on my weakened state?” she asks playfully.

She tries to laugh, but begins coughing uncontrollably.  He can see beads of sweat forming on her forehead.  He _knows_ she’s getting worse, even if she won’t admit it to everyone else. 

“Don’t be ridiculous!  I don’t know how to prey on anyone.”

She smiles as she catches her breath, and it’s only then he notices a greenish-tinge to her skin.  He begins to put some of the pieces together about why she’s acting this way and a tinge of anxiety begins to build.  _She doesn’t think she’s surviving this.  Does she know she’s not surviving this?_

“I need you to look after Garcia when I’m gone.  He’ll need people he can trust around him if he’s going to rule well.”

“Lucy, if something happens to you, he’s not going to be in any shape to rule over anyone.”

“Rufus, he has to.  If he doesn’t, they’ll be civil war between the houses,” Lucy exclaims.

“Okay.  That should be easy enough.”

Lucy peers back at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Just don’t die then.  Problem solved,” he deadpans.

“I don’t _want_ to die, Rufus.  I’ve thought long and hard about this.  I know the gods brought me back for this purpose and this purpose alone.  There’s only two ways this will go down.  Either I kill Emma and her dragon and die in the process or I fail and we all die.”

“What about killing Emma but not dying in the process?” he asks.

Lucy chuckles in response and swats his arm with her hand.  Then, out of the blue, the wolf lifts its head, stands at attention and looks skyward.  The next sound Rufus hears is unmistakable.  It’s a dragon.  But which one?  If it’s Emma, they’re dead.

He gazes up at the sky and spies not one, but two shadows off in the distance.  They appear to be flying in tandem, so he assumes that it’s Flynn and Jiya.  They fly over the castle and Flynn lands the dragon in the Godsgarden, while Jiya circles back around.  _Show off!_   Jiya lands as well, and they both make their way over to the tree. 

Rufus shoots up from the tree root and bows to his king.  The king slaps him on the shoulder and practically shoves him towards Jiya in order to sit down next to Lucy. 

“Rufus!” Jiya calls as she waves him over.

She’s only a short distance from the tree, but the dragons are behind her, and as fascinating as he finds them on a scholastic level, he really doesn’t want to get up close and personal. 

“This way.  I want you to meet Blaze,” Jiya states, as she tugs his hand.

Rufus lets go of her hand and stops dead in his tracks.

“I can meet him just fine from right here, at a nice, safe distance.”

“Stop being a coward.  He won’t hurt you.  Not unless I tell him to.”

“Not very comforting.”

The king shoots him a dirty look, and Rufus gets the distinct sense he wants to have a little more privacy with Lucy, so he reluctantly retakes Jiya’s hand.  She leads him towards the red dragon, which is the smaller of the two, but still freakishly huge.  Its big, black eyes inspect him thoroughly, as Jiya pulls him even closer.  Somehow, she manages to get him to pet the dragon.  Its scales are hard yet smooth, shimmering lightly like fairy dust.  He loses it momentarily and continues to pet the dragon, as a huge grin spreads across his face.

“I’m petting a dragon.  I’m petting a _freaking_ dragon!” Rufus exclaims.

He’s not truly speaking to Jiya, but it’s more of an excited utterance than anything. 

“Climb on,” Jiya instructs.

“What?” Rufus asks, as he spins on his heel to face her.

“Let’s go for a ride.”

“I-I don’t know how to ride a dragon.”

“No one does, until they ride a dragon,” Jiya replies with a smirk.

Jiya climbs onto Blaze and reaches back with her hand.  He has such a hard time saying no to her about anything, and it appears this is no exception.  He grips her hand and climbs up, clutching her waist a second later. 

“I love you and I trust you.  Please don’t kill me.  I like living.”

Jiya laughs heartily and commands the dragon to take flight. 

As Flynn sits down next to Lucy, he takes her hand in his and gazes longingly into her eyes. 

“How are you feeling?  Are you sure you should be out here without a cloak?”

_Calm down. You’re going to freak her out_. 

“I’m alright.  What happened?” Lucy asks.

He glances around nervously and spies Sir Connor trekking through the snow towards them from the castle.  He doesn’t want to deal with him just yet, so he stands and gently pulls Lucy up as well.

“I need to talk to you.  Preferably somewhere with less prying eyes,” he states, as he leads her towards his dragon.

“Where are we going?”

“Not far.”

He climbs up onto Maelstrom and reaches down to assist Lucy.  She climbs on without protest and flings her arms around his waist.  Her grip is not tight, which worries him slightly, but they take flight anyway.  As they circle the castle, they spy Jiya and Rufus on Blaze.  Rufus appears to be beyond terrified, his eyes closed most of the time, as Jiya shows off her flying skills. Flynn feels for him.  He’s been in Rufus’ shoes.  Jiya is a little crazy and careless.  His dragon is also larger, so for some reason he feels safer on him.  It’s also a control thing.  Okay, mostly the control thing.

They fly in a northeasterly direction until he spots the canyon he’s been looking for.  They’re close to the Three Borders, the area where The Glen, The Watershed and The Tundra all meet.  Glacial waters from The Tundra melt and flow down from the mountains, which in turn feed the rivers and streams of The Watershed and The Glen’s upper areas.  He dips the dragon downward and they soar through the canyon, twisting and turning with the rock until they come upon a huge waterfall. 

He lands Maelstrom on a rocky outcropping beside the waterfall and helps Lucy down.  She seems extra small and paler than usual today and he can tell she’s not feeling particularly great.  He extends his arm and she takes it, as he leads her down to the plunge pool of the waterfall.  The top layer of the falls have frozen over, but cool, crystal blue water flows freely underneath. 

“It’s so beautiful here,” Lucy exclaims as she glances around.  “How did you find this?  I’ve lived in this area my entire life and I’ve never been here.”

“I spotted it when I was chasing Emma that first time.  The moonlight reflected off the water and I thought she was lying in wait to ambush me for a split second.  Then I realized what it was and I flew down to get a closer look.  It reminded me of you,” he answers.

“Me?  How so?”

“You’re both breathtakingly beautiful for one.  Natural, pure beauty.  There’s also a serenity to being here and being with you, yet there’s also a wildness, an untamed unpredictability.”

The way she stares back into his eyes is as if he has spoken the most poetic words ever uttered aloud.  She grabs a hold of his tunic and yanks him towards her and kisses him passionately.  He freezes for a half second, then envelopes her in his arms.  They continue kissing until they’re both gasping for air and have to pull away.  Lucy leans her forehead on his, which sends literal and metaphorical fire throughout his entire body.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, leather pouch.

“Lucy…”

She pulls back and cranes her neck to look him in the eyes.

“What is that?”

“Part of the reason I wanted to come here.  Close your eyes and open your hand.  I have something for you.”

She immediately closes her eyes and sticks her hand out.  He loves that she trusts him that much to not even question his reasons.  He opens the pouch’s strings and shakes its contents into Lucy’s hand. 

“You can open your eyes, my love.”

Lucy opens her eyes and peers down at the golden object in her palm.  She gingerly picks it up with her other hand to examine it. 

“A locket.  It’s beautiful, Garcia!”

The locket is embossed with the two battles axes of his house.  The words, “I will always love you,” are etched onto the back.

“May I?” he asks indicating he would like to put it on for her.

She turns her head and lifts her hair, as he places the locket around her neck and fastens the clasp.  He kisses the nape of her neck softly afterwards, and she turns back to kiss him properly again.

“This belonged to my mother once.  Every woman in my family had one of their own, and I want you to have it, Lucy.”

“Won’t your betrothed have a major problem with that?”

“Not likely, since I’m pretty sure I don’t have a betrothed anymore,” he explains.

“What! What do you mean?  What happened at the capital?”

“I was too late,” he replies, as he lowers his head in shame.  “I failed my people, just like I failed my family.”

“You didn’t fail all of your people. Garcia, you didn’t.”

She takes his face in her hands and pulls him up to meet her gaze.

“You didn’t fail me.  You didn’t fail the people of The Glen.  We’re going to defeat Emma and we’re going to do it together.”

He grabs her hand and kisses her knuckles lightly.

“I hope so, Lucy. I hope so.”

 


	33. The Spirit to Soar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy devises a plan to distract her king. Amy makes a shocking decision regarding her part in the upcoming battle. Flynn worries about Lucy, as plans to defend the castle are implemented. Amy has a surprise encounter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some sexual content and one sassy sister.

Lucy can see how much this is affecting Garcia and it’s breaking her heart.  He’s really trying to be a good king, although they’re hasn’t been much time for ruling.  She knows he’s struggling with failure, or at least his perceived failure.  She aches to comfort him, since he has done it for her more times that she cares to remember.  She’s been trying her best to keep her guard up around him, not wanting him to fall apart when this war is said and done and she’s no longer among the living.  She let her guard down when they came up to the waterfall, his kisses and embrace a balm to her soul.  She’s afraid if she keeps pushing him away, his head might not be in the right space when it comes time to fight, and they need him almost as much as they need her. 

She doesn’t know how to help him besides repeating that he’s not a failure. She caresses his cheek with her hand, and he leans into her touch as he closes his eyes.  Her brain conjures a thought to help distract him and she decides to throw caution to the wind.  _He needs her right now, he needs this._

She pulls back from him and stumbles to her feet, which causes him to shoot up as well with concern for her well-being. She plays with the locket around her neck, enjoying the coolness of the gold on her scalding-hot skin.  It was overwhelming when he gave it to her.  She knows how much his mother meant to him, and the importance of giving her a piece of his mother’s jewelry is not lost on her.  The locket is truly beautiful and he seems more than pleased that she not only likes it, but is wearing it around her neck with pride.

It’s helpful that she’s in the ice and snow, but she needs to cool down even further.  _Damn this stupid salamander._ She carefully makes her way to the edge of the plunge pool, leans over and scoops up some fresh cool water to douse her face with.  The water is close to freezing, but it feels heavenly to her. 

“Lucy, what are you doing?”

“I need to cool down,” she responds, as she removes her dress and stumbles into the water.

“Lucy, it’s too cold, you’ll freeze!”

She waves her hand at him, sinks down into the water further and tilts her head back.  The frigidity is beyond refreshing, and she revels in the first relief of her private heatwave since the salamander entered her body.

“Damn it, Lucy!” he yells, as he begins to remove his layers of clothing.

He’s shivering from the frigid air, but jumps into the pool after her and shrieks in agony when he hits the water.

“Are you mad?  It’s freezing!”

She glides over to him in the water and wraps her arms around his neck.

“Then, I guess I’ll just have to keep my king warm,” she whispers in his ear, as she plants kisses along his neck.

He closes his eyes and lets out a little moan.  He wraps his arms around her back and pulls her closer.  He stops shivering as she presses against him.  She’s actually sweating, causing steam to rise from the heat of her body in the water.  He’s incredibly responsive to her advances, and she wraps her legs around his waist to encourage him even more.  She knows he’s forgotten the cold already when he grips her thighs and aligns himself with her entrance. 

He kisses her deeply, then works a trail down her neck, nipping her collarbone lightly.  She loses all control and digs her nails into his shoulders when he thrusts into her hard.  She’s trying to match his pace, but finds she doesn’t have the strength to keep up.  They’re both panting like wild animals by this point, his mouth finding any skin he can to kiss and bite.  She will without a doubt have marks from this encounter, but she doesn’t care.  She can feel the tension snapping in her body like a red-hot poker. 

Between the billowing steam around them, the icy water soothing her skin, and the fire burning between her legs and coursing through her veins, it feels as if she’s fulfilling a primal urge.  For the first time in a while, she senses the gods surrounding her, almost as if they’re blessing this union between them.  She loves him with all her heart, even if she hasn’t said it out loud yet. She’s not quite sure she can pinpoint when it happened, but it did.  They’ve been through so much together, seen each other at some of their lowest points, know each other’s thoughts and wants and needs.  She has no doubt any longer that this is their destiny.  The gods brought them together, primarily to defeat the great evil of their time, but also to love and comfort each other during the process. 

Her moans are getting louder by the second and he gazes longingly into her eyes.

“I love you, Lucy.  I love you with every fiber of my being and I will never be parted from you again,” he whispers into her ear.

She responds by arching her back and digging her nails into him even harder, as she reaches climax.  He follows shortly thereafter, kissing her lazily, as they catch their breath.  He cups her cheeks and gazes at her with the intensity of a thousand suns. 

“Marry me, Lucy.  There’s nothing in our way anymore.  I want you to be my wife, my queen,” he declares, as he peppers her with soft kisses to her lips.

She wants nothing more than to say yes, to tell him that’s what she wants more than anything, but she’s terrified she won’t live to see it to fruition. 

“If we survive this war, I’ll marry you.”

“Let’s get married now.  I don’t want to wait,” he answers, as he kisses her again, this time even more passionately.

“Garcia, I don’t want to be sweating like crazy and barely be able to stand at my own wedding.  Please, can we wait until this is over?”

He pulls back from her with a worried expression on his face.  His body starts to shiver, as he kisses her forehead and pets her hair.

“Of course, my love.  Lucy, I’m really worried that you’re becoming so weak and sick.”

His lips are starting to turn a bluish-hue and the shivering is beginning to get worse.  She knows they can’t stay like this for long, and she doesn’t want him to freeze any more than he already has.  A few moments later, they detangle their bodies and climb out of the plunge pool.  They need to get back to the castle anyway, before Sir Connor sends out a search party for them.

**_Rittenfell_ **

Amy watches from the top of the battlements as the caravan of wagons pour into the castle.  There’s also the spectacle of Jiya flying Rufus around on her dragon, which keeps her entertained for a while, before he manages to convince her to land so he can touch solid ground again.  There are wagons from the west filled with shadowglass, wagons from the east filled with fish, and wagons from the south filled with wheat, chickens and goats.  Hordes of people are flocking here from every corner of the continent, fleeing Emma’s march of mayhem.  She’s now responsible for the rest of these souls, as Lady of Rittenfell.  She’s also freaking out about Lucy.  She _cannot_ watch her sister waste away any more than she already has. 

She’s frustratingly furious right now and wound way too tightly. When she was younger and most of the focus was on Lucy, Amy would sneak off and swordfight with the butcher’s boy or practice archery with a torn and faded target in the woods.  She had plenty of opportunity to blow off steam and now she can’t get a moment’s peace.  She needs her sister to help her, but Lucy’s got more than her own fair share of issues right now.

She turns around on the battlements and makes her way to the inner wall.  As she peers over the wall into the courtyard below, she sees Wyatt and Karl training the men and women how to fight.  Some of them are competent with a bow, but most of them are going to need a great deal of instruction.  They need more help.  Wyatt, as much as she despises him, is a competent knight skilled in battle.  Karl’s managed to stay alive being next to Flynn all these years, which is a feat unto itself. 

Suddenly, her guards crowd around her.  She glances up to see Jorsten waiting patiently for an audience with her.  There’s something about the Goran in general that Amy finds awe-inspiring. The thought of living off the land alongside the wilds of nature, untouched by the corrupt politics of the realm is extremely appealing right now.

“We’ve brought back what we could from Crimson Rock. Wasn’t much.  Is there something else we can help with?” Jorsten questions.

Struck with a Lucy-like brilliance, Amy smiles back at him.

“Actually, Jorsten, there is indeed.  Come with me,” she advises, as she links her arm into his and leads them down the stairs to the courtyard.

Wyatt and Karl glance over at them as they approach.  They both bow to her and she turns to address the crowd of would-be soldiers. 

“The Goran will help with the training as well.  As accomplished as the both of you are, you have too many to train by yourselves,” Amy announces.

Wyatt and Karl don’t seem to care in the least, grateful for any help they can get.  The common folk, however, are a completely different story.  Untrusting of outsiders to begin with, they have begrudgingly accepted the help of the southerners, but the wild mountain men of the far-north is another story altogether.  Since none of them are willing to work with them at the moment, Amy picks up a bow herself.  _Why should everyone else get to fight for those they love and not her? How can she ask her people to fight if she won’t stand beside them?_  She fires the bow and hits her target, but barely.  Jorsten begins to instruct her how to correct her stance, when Wyatt loses his cool and steps in Jorsten’s face.

“Who gave you permission to touch Lady Preston, _wildman_?”

Jorsten opens his mouth to respond when Amy cuts in front of him and gets in Wyatt’s face.

“Listen here, _Sir_ Wyatt.  I asked Jorsten to help me, so back off!”

“You don’t need to learn, my lady.  You won’t be fighting.”

“The hell I won’t!  And, don’t tell me what I need!  What I _need_ is a competent instructor, which is why I asked Jorsten and not some petulant southerner.”

The common folk from The Glen snicker and laugh, as their liege lady insults the great southern knight.  Even Karl is laughing at his brother-in-arms.  After this excitement, the people seem to be more inclined to allow the Goran to interact with and instruct them.  _At least she managed to accomplish something today._  

They hear the sound of a dragon screeching and the common folk start to panic and run.  The dragon soars over the castle a second later, and Amy breathes a sigh of relief that it’s the black dragon.  It circles the castle once more and she spies her sister and the king on its back.  The dragon lands outside the castle’s main gate, and Flynn helps Lucy down.  They stroll arm-in-arm into the courtyard.  Amy and Lucy’s eyes lock, and Lucy is apoplectic at Amy’s choice of activity. 

“Amy, what in seven hells are you doing?”

Amy hands the bow to Jorsten and walks over to her sister and the king. 

“Practicing.  What have you two been _doing_?”

Lucy blushes and Amy knows she’s caught her red-handed.  Amy leans in and whispers into her sister’s ear, “Did you guys do it on the dragon as it flew through the clouds?”

Lucy slaps her arm and gives her that stern older sister look of “knock it off.” 

“Amy, you can’t fight.  You’re the Lady of Rittenfell.”

“But you can?  _You_ are the rightful Lady of Rittenfell, not me. Why do you all get to fight for those you love and I cannot?” Amy demands.

“Lady Preston, I cannot protect Lucy _and_ you once the battle begins.  There’s just too much at stake,” he advises.

“Thus why I’m learning to protect myself _and_ my sister.”

She turns and Jorsten tosses the bow back at her.  Amy catches it effortlessly, as if she’s been doing this her entire life.  _It was actually just a bit of luck, but no one has to know that_. She threads an arrow in the bow, pulls it back and fires, nailing the target. 

“She’s a natural,” Jorsten announces with a hearty laugh.

Lucy is astonished at her sister’s skill, but still pleads with her not to fight.  Amy’s growing more wound up and pissed off by the second.  This was supposed to release some steam.  Maybe she needs to take a page out of Lucy’s book and work it out another way.  She throws the bow to the ground in disgust, turns and begins to stomp back towards the castle.

“We’ll work on knives tomorrow!” Jorsten calls after her.

Lucy spends the next two days sick in bed, which worries Flynn tremendously.  He finds it’s hard to concentrate on the daily decisions that saddle him when the love of his life is literally fighting to live.  Somehow, though, it’s strangely comforting knowing that she has that wolf with her.  Snow watches over her dutifully during the day and he’s always with her at night.  Kevin also comes and goes, making sure Lucy has something to eat, as well as reading to her.  He assumes Snow goes out to hunt when they do their shift change, but he’s not actually sure.  Maybe the kitchen staff are feeding him.  All he knows is that when he wakes in the morning, the wolf is normally right outside the door. 

Jiya and he have been making daily trips to track the army of the dead’s progress.  Interestingly enough, she doesn’t appear to be suffering as badly as Lucy is.  Jiya has tried to explain it to him, something about the way the elementals are split up between them, but he’s not sure she’s being honest with him or if the elementals are being honest with her.  It appears that the undine is the most straightforward and candid of all of them, but he’s a suspicious person by nature and he’s always wondering if she’s trying to work an angle as well.  Apparently, fire needs air to survive, so that’s why they’re grouped together and the earth needs water, so that’s why Jiya is hosting those two elementals.  Something like that.

He’s waiting for Jiya to return from her morning scouting trip right now.  He’s not exactly in a hurry to start this battle, but it needs to happen soon for Lucy’s sake.  He spots Jiya and her dragon on the horizon and waits in the Godsgarden for them to land.

“They’ve reached Summit Hall, Your Grace.”

“Which way are they heading?” he questions.

“Northeast.  They’re headed here for sure.  They found Summit Hall abandoned, just like they found Castle Christopher.  Emma’s not going to risk going all the way out to Shadowspear when all the signs point to everyone fleeing here.”

“How long do we have?” Flynn asks.

“They’ll be here in three days time.”

“Three days until we face the doom of our time.”

They both stand there in silence.  They know the odds are against them, but they have to try, have to fight.  There is no other option. The majority of the common folk have made their way to Rittenfell, and the castle overflowing its capacity makes for its own set of headaches.  Thankfully, Amy seems to be coping with her newfound role as Lady of Rittenfell, although her late night training sessions with Jorsten have not gone unnoticed.  He’s tried to tell Lucy that her sister _can_ indeed fight, but Lucy still sees her as the little girl who followed her around. 

The trenches have been dug, the barricades and battlements have been covered in shadowglass, and the trebuchets and ballistas have been placed strategically around the castle’s perimeter.  Wyatt, Karl and the rest of the Goran continue to train the commoners, and the forge spits out shadowglass weapons as fast as they can make them.  Jiya has also concocted a few of her quicklime and brimstone clay pot bombs, although they won’t be able to use them with their own men in the field.  It’s more of a last resort type of defense.  Unlike at Hardstone where they flung the pots down onto the beach, they would run the risk of burning down the castle if they were to use them inappropriately here. 

They’ve done most of what they can, and he hates the waiting game more than anything.  He’s a man of action, a man of constant motion.  The lack of physical activity, both on the field of battle and in the bedroom (for the last couple of days at least), has left him pent up, irritable and angry.  He’s not angry at Lucy, but more so for what the gods and those elementals have been putting her through.  If anyone doesn’t deserve this, it’s Lucy.  He, on the other hand, deserves that pain and agony ten times over.  _Why couldn’t it have been him?_

He thanks Jiya for the intel and informs her he’s going for a ride to clear his head. She curtsies, turns and walks back to towards the castle, as Blaze leaps back into the sky.  _This is going to be the longest three days of his life._  

Later that evening, Amy pulls her cloak around her and makes her way out to the Godsgarden.  She’s clad in pants and boots, which has become her new training outfit.  Jorsten has been teaching her how to fight, and she’s proud of the progress she’s made.  She’s become very fond of the spear, although she’s still the most comfortable with a bow in her hand.  She knows that Lucy, among many others, does not condone her weapons’ training, but she really does not care. 

If they lose this battle, they sure as hell can’t do anything to her for disobeying them.  Plus, she never followed rules before, why start now? 

Usually, Jorsten is at the tree already waiting for her, but tonight he must be running a little behind.  She hears a rustling in the darkness behind her and jumps.  She can’t see anything, so she extends her lantern as far as she can and cautiously steps forward.  She flashes the lantern across the grounds and stops when she spies a pair of red eyes staring back at her.  The eyes appear to be getting closer and she can tell this is something much bigger than her.  The ground rumbles slightly and she knows then it’s a dragon.  It sniffs her and she can see its silver markings and underbelly before she can see the blue scales covering the rest of it.  This is the missing dragon, yet its wing appears to be completely healed now.  It lowers its head towards her feet and she suddenly has the urge to pet him.  She lifts her hand to the side of his head and gently glides her hand along the scales.  Amazingly, the dragon begins to make a sound that resembles a purring cat and Amy feels a connection to it that she logically can’t explain.  _Could it possibly be attempting to bond with her?_ It sounds hauntingly familiar to what Jiya described when she bonded with Blaze.

Suddenly, the blue dragon lowers its wing, presenting its top spines to Amy.  She’s seen this before when Flynn and Jiya mount their dragons and knows what it is offering.  She’s not important like Flynn, Jiya or Lucy, so how could she possibly be a dragonrider?  Amy’s always been a little bit of a daredevil, so she takes her chance and climbs on. The dragon takes off before she’s even ready, and she’s gripping the spines as if her life depends on it, and well, it does.  She feels like a complete idiot for asking Lucy if she had sex like this, because there is no way you wouldn’t fall off.  She sees that now.  It’s taking all of her strength to hold on and the dragon is soaring over the countryside at full speed.

It takes her a few minutes, but she starts to appreciate the ride and get a better sense of how to get the dragon to listen to her commands.  _This is ten times better than training.  No wonder Flynn goes on rides as much as possible._  

After they’ve circled the area for a little while, the dragon flies back and lands in the Godsgarden.  Jorsten is waiting for her and does not seem at all shocked that she just climbed off a dragon.  The blue dragon takes flight once again and Flynn and Maelstrom land in the same spot a few seconds later.  They were on patrol and he definitely saw Amy.

“What just happened?” he asks, as he dismounts his dragon and strolls towards her. 

“I rode a dragon that’s what happened.  I didn’t plan on it. It just showed up out here when I was waiting for my-”

“Training session?  Yes, I know.”

“You do?” Amy asks with an air of panic.

“Amy, I’m the king. Do you think I don’t hear about the goings on in this castle?”

“Please don’t tell Lucy.  She’s got enough to worry about and you know she’ll worry.”

“She _will_ worry.  Normally, I wouldn’t agree to this, but I don’t want to cause her any undue stress right now.  Consider this your one free pass, my lady.”

Amy curtsies as he turns, mounts his dragon, and resumes his nightly surveillance of the surrounding area.  She turns to Jorsten, who shrugs his shoulders.  He has no idea what’s going on other than she’s delaying her nightly training and he’s getting annoyed. Confident that her secret is at least somewhat safe at the moment, she picks up her spear and listens to Jorsten’s instructions.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I debated on who the fourth dragonrider should be and I chose Amy because I'm all about girl power! Plus, I see and write her as a little bit of a wild child, so I figured it fit perfectly.


	34. The Breath Before The Plunge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An arrival at the gate has everyone surprised. A battle plan is hashed out. The group decides how to spend their last hours before war descends upon them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some slight smut.

**_Rittenfell_ **

Flynn is blissfully dreaming of a future with the breathtaking beauty in his arms.  Her raven-hued hair is splayed across the pillow, half-obscuring her face.  Her skin is almost as white as the snow on the ground outside, yet the porcelain sheen she once had is now just a fading memory.  Their fingers are intertwined, clinging to one another like the winter snows cling to the first flowers of spring.  Even now, she is still the most bewitching beauty he has ever laid eyes on.

These could very well be their last days together, and despite Sir Connor’s constant protestations, he spends most of his time with Lucy.  It physically pains him to separate from her, as if his heart is tearing in two, only to be restored once she’s in his arms again.  He watches her carefully as she sleeps, and silently prays to the old gods to grant him this one wish: a life with Lucy.  He swears he will never ask for another thing from them again.

The blare of a single horn signals an arrival at the castle gate and interrupts his silent supplication.  He bolts upright in bed, trying not to disturb Lucy, but she’s already stirring. 

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing for you to worry about, my love. Rest,” he whispers as he kisses her lips softly.

He quickly throws on some clothes and opens the door.  As usual, Snow is laying at the threshold.  The wolf scampers to its feet when Flynn opens the door and literally takes his place next to Lucy in the bed.  He never thought he’d be jealous of an animal, but the fact that he gets to be with Lucy while he deals with…whatever, is pissing him off. 

He snakes through the narrow corridors and makes his way down to the courtyard.  The gates are open and Dunish cavalrymen are pouring through.  He’s most grateful for the extra help, but doesn’t quite understand what prompted it. 

“Your Grace!”

He turns around and spies Lady Denise Marri striding towards him.

“My lady, what are you doing here?  I thought you and your people were hiding in the caves?”

“What…and leave all the glory of victory to you?”

He laughs back and they give each other a hearty handshake.

“Did you really think I would leave my daughter here on her own?” Denise questions.

Jiya comes rushing out the door a moment later and hugs her mother fiercely.

“In a minute,” Denise instructs her.

Jiya pulls back in confusion.

Flynn knows that look.  It’s the look that warriors give each other when they know they’re going to be in a battle where the odds are not in their favor. 

“How long do we have?” he asks.

“They’ll be here before the dawn tomorrow.”

He nods his head and bows ceremoniously to the ladies, then sets off to make sure everything is ready.  It won’t be long now.

The entire lot of them pour into the war room.  Maps sprawl across the table as they try to come to a consensus about their strategy for battle.  They have a few ideas about what they’re going to do when the army of the dead arrives, but they need to plan for as many different scenarios as possible.

“How in seven hells are we supposed to beat them?” Wyatt bemoans.

“Our only shot is killing Emma.  She controls them all.  If she dies, they die,” Flynn advises.

“If that’s the case, why would Emma ever expose herself?” Rufus questions.

Lucy stands from the chair she was sitting in and grabs the edge of the table to help her balance herself. 

“We need to draw her out.  I will wait in the Godsgarden for her.”

“Absolutely not!  You can barely stand.  You’re going down into the crypts with your sister and the rest of the women and children where it’s safer,” Flynn commands.

“It won’t be if I’m down there.  She’s coming to kill _me_.”

“Why just you?” Sir Connor asks.

“Because she knows that I’m the only one who can stop her.”

Everyone stares at her like she just grew a third head.

“Technically, it’s the elementals who are the only ones that can stop her.  But, if she can kill me in the process, it’ll be a bonus for her.”

“Lucy’s right,” Amy announces.  “Emma has always hated Lucy for some reason.  She’ll go after her if given the opportunity.”

“I’m not leaving you out there all by yourself,” Flynn states with a pleading look in his eyes.

“I won’t be.  I’ll have the wolves with me.”

“Lucy, no.”

“Do any of you have a better idea?”

Everyone glances around the room, but no one has a better plan, so they reluctantly agree to hers.  They go over the rest of the battle formations and placements, then get ready to disperse to their separate assignments and quarters. 

“Before you all go, I have one more order of business,” Flynn declares.

Sir Connor glances at him cross-eyed.

“Rufus, kneel before your king,” he commands.

Rufus’ eyes shoot to his father, who wears a wry smile.  He nervously walks forward and kneels on one knee before Flynn.

“For your bravery at the Battle of Hardstone and the Battle of Rittenfell, I should have done this long ago.”

Flynn unsheathes his dragonsteel sword and places it on Rufus’ right shoulder. 

“In the name of the warrior, I charge you to be brave.”

Flynn moves his sword to Rufus’ left shoulder.

“In the name of the father, I charge you to be just.”

He then moves the sword back to the right shoulder.

“In the name of the mother, I charge you to defend the innocent.  Arise, Rufus Mason, A Knight of the Kingdom of Ritten.”

Rufus stands and everyone claps, especially Sir Connor.  He beams with pride at his son.  Flynn knows it might all be meaningless in a few hours, but at least Rufus will know exactly what he thinks of him.  Everyone disperses into their own little groups and departs the war room.  They’ll have a few hours before the dead arrive and they better make the most of it.

Karl and Jorsten gather in the great hall, gathering warmth from the fireplace.  Karl is a quiet fellow for the most part, and Jorsten really only speaks if he has a purpose.  Needless to say, it is not the most raucous of rooms at the moment.  Fortunately, Sir Connor and Denise enter the hall a few moments later. Sir Connor fills the goblets of the group with their best wine, except for Jorsten who drinks some kind of mountain moonshine.  They all sit around the fire, contemplating their last hours and their life’s accomplishments.

“To our last hours of humanity,” Karl toasts.

The group raise their goblets and Jorsten raises his horn and they drink.  And, then they drink some more.  And, some more.

“I actually think we might live through this,” Sir Connor muses.

The rest of the group stare at him and each other in silence and then burst out laughing. 

“What?  No really.  How many battles between all of us have we survived?” Sir Connor questions.

They continue to laugh at him.

“Karl, how many battles did you survive as a mercenary, let alone the Battle of Rittenfell and the Battle of King’s Keep?  Lady Marri, you fought to quell how many rebellions and uprisings?  And you, what’s your name again, Torsten?”

“Jorsten.”

“You look like you’ve seen a fair share of action.  Although, I have no idea how a mad fucker like you could’ve survived this long.”

“I’m good at killing people,” Jorsten answers matter-of-factly, as he takes a slurp from his horn.

“I myself survived the Battle of Rittenfell with no military training whatsoever,” Sir Connor brags, as he refills his goblet.

Karl and Denise groan loudly and roll their eyes. 

“I’m shocked that you’re not spending these last hours with your daughter, Lady Marri.”

“I could say the same about you, Sir Connor.”

“Yes, you could, but we both know you’re a much better parent than I could ever be.”

“My daughter is with the person she wants to be with.  We spoke earlier and we will speak again before the battle.”

Silence befalls them again as they stare into the flames.

“Who would’ve thought we’d all be here…at the end of the world… defending House _Preston_.  A house that all of us have been at war with recently.  The irony is not lost on me,” he declares, as he slurps the last of the wine in his goblet.

They all nod their heads in agreement and let that thought sink in.

“Karl, be a good lad and fetch me some more wine,” Sir Connor asks, as he dangles his goblet in Karl’s face.

“There is no more.  We drank it all.”

“Ugh,” Sir Connor mumbles.

Suddenly, the horn blows three times and they know the time has come.

Wyatt enters the chamber and spots Jessica sitting on the side of the bed. 

“I’m scared, Wyatt.”

He sits down next to her and takes her into his arms.

“I’m scared too,” he replies, as he kisses her forehead.

He doesn’t know how to comfort his wife.  He can’t tell her it’s all going to be okay, because the odds are not in their favor.  Jessica places her hand on her ever growing belly.

“I don’t want anything to happen to our baby.  I don’t want anything to happen to you, either.”

“Neither do I, Jess.  We win and live or we lose and we die.  The stakes couldn’t be higher, but we don’t have a choice.  I promise, I will do whatever it takes to save you and our baby.”

They crawl into the bed and pull the furs up half-way.  They lay there on their sides, hands intertwined.  Silence falls over the room like freshly fallen snow.  Neither one knows how to comfort the other in what could be their final hours in this world.  Finally, he breaks the silence a few minutes later.

“I hope we have a little girl.”

“What?  I thought you’d be like every other high-born lord and want a son.”

“Nope.  I’d like a little girl.”

“Why?”

“Because little girls take care of their fathers when they get old.  Boys just go off and fight in someone else’s war.”

Jessica opens her mouth, but stops and thinks for a second.

“Maybe, if we all survive this, there won’t be any more wars.  At least, not for a while.”

Wyatt glances back at her with a “yeah, right” expression.  It’s a nice thought, but he knows the hearts of men too well.  There’s always a war somewhere. 

“Just promise me that if you survive and I don’t-”

“Don’t say that!” Jessica pleads.

“If I don’t, promise me you’ll go home to Shadowspear.  Promise me that you’ll raise our child there.  You know your brother will let you.  This way, I’ll know that you’ll have someone to look out for you.”

“Wyatt, I don’t want to think about that.  Not right now,” she states, as she cups his cheek.

“Promise me, Jess.  I won’t be able to go out there and fight if you don’t.  I need to know you’ll be taken care of if something happens to me.”

He’s almost begging her right now.  He does need that peace of mind in order to concentrate on the fight.

“I promise.”

They kiss and stare longingly into each other’s eyes for what feels like forever, and then the horn blows.  They kiss once more and help each other up from the bed.  Wyatt escorts her down to the crypts.

“I love you, Jess.”

“I love you too, Wyatt.”

It’s the first time she’s ever said that to him and he actually believes her.  He really hopes it’s not the last though.

Amy dips her bread into the soup bowl and peers at Aevin across the table.  They’re sitting in the courtyard, watching the soldiers and common folk alike prepare for the battle.  Aevin eats his soup quietly, yet tries to sneak looks at her when he thinks she’s not paying attention.  Amy knows he’s doing it, but she’s good at portraying the naïve damsel.  They’ve gotten to know each other pretty well in the time they’ve spent together.  She’s pretty sure he likes her, but he’s never confirmed his feelings.  She’s going completely off her instincts here. 

“I’m relieved to know you’ll be in the crypts with the rest of the women and children,” Aevin states, as he breaks off another piece of bread.

“I’m not.  I’m worried about Lucy.  I’d feel much better if we were together.”

“I know you’re brave, my lady, but someone needs to survive this fight.”

“Someone?  I need everyone I care about to survive this fight.  I’ve already lost too many people along the way.  We both have.”

Aevin lowers his head and stares at the table.  She didn’t mean to upset him, she was trying to empathize with him, remind him just how much they have in common.

“Yeah, we have,” he finally responds.

“Aevin-”

“Amy-”

“You first,” Amy insists.

“No, you my lady.”

“I was just going to say, I will pray for your safety.”

She lies.  She was going to tell him that she liked him and would like to get to know him even better.

“Thank you, my lady.  I’m humbled you would think to include me in your prayers.”

_Seriously?  How much more does she have to do to get him to notice how she feels?_  

“What were you going to ask me?”

“It seems silly considering what we’re facing, but I was wondering if you liked sailing?”

“Sailing?  I can’t answer that.  I’ve never been sailing before.”

Aevin gives her a puzzled expression. 

“Northerner, remember?”

He chuckles in response and some of the tension seems to dissipate.

“I’d like to take you sailing when this is all over.  We can sail to one of the small islands off of Shadowspear and have a picnic.”

“I’d like that,” she answers shyly. 

Aevin takes her hand in his from across the table.  They gaze into each other’s eyes for a few minutes and then they hear the horn blow.  He lifts her hand and kisses it softly.  They both stand and Aevin gets ready to leave, when Amy calls after him.  He turns back around and Amy grabs ahold of him and plants a kiss directly on his lips.  As they pull apart, she can see the wide smile spread across his face.  Aevin turns back around and makes his way toward the gate.  Amy ascends the stairs and takes her place at the top of the battlements.  She wants to get a look at what they’re up against.  A few moments later, Rufus and Kevin join her.

Rufus is still reeling from what just happened.  He must be dying, because never in his wildest dreams did he ever think that the king would knight _him_.  His father is a knight, in title only, as Connor has never fought a battle in his life.  _At least he earned his title the honest way and didn’t have to pay for it in gold._

“Sir Rufus!” a voice calls as he’s walking down the corridor.

He keeps walking, the “sir” not registering in his brain. 

“ _Rufus Carlin Mason_!”

He stops dead in his tracks and turns around to find Jiya a few strides behind him with an annoyed expression plastered to her face.

“You know my middle name?” Rufus asks with a quirk in his eyebrow.

“Of course I do, even if you don’t know mine,” Jiya jests.

He doesn’t want to look like he doesn’t know anything about her, but for the life of him he cannot recall Jiya’s middle name. 

“Denise?” he asks hesitantly.

Jiya shakes her head in disgust and continues to walk down the corridor.

“Wait, I know this.  Give me a minute.”

“You _should_ know this,” Jiya teases again, as she stops in front of his chamber door.

“Lyanna?”

Jiya shakes her head again.

“It starts with an A.”

“Amara?  Alia?”

“Nope and nope.”

She pushes his chamber door open and struts inside.  Rufus follows her in, still wracking his brain to remember.  _Why can’t he remember?_

As soon as he shuts his door, Jiya shoves him up against it.

“It’s Ashara,” Jiya states, as she presses her lips to his.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, as she pulls back slightly.

“Just shut up and kiss me since we’re all probably going to die soon.”

Rufus obliges her and they kiss passionately for a few minutes, before they both pull back breathless.

“I love you, Jiya.”

He didn’t mean to blurt it out like that, but it’s what he feels.  Considering that she’s probably right and they’re most likely going to die within the next few hours, he needs to say it out loud to her.  He needs her to know how much she means to him. 

She backs up a few feet and crooks a finger at him.  He shuffles his feet forward, mesmerized by her beauty.

“How many girls were you with in Riya?” Jiya asks.

“What?  I don’t know.  I didn’t keep count.”

“Yes, you did.  How many?  One, two, twenty?”

“What?” Rufus asks in horror.

“How many?” Jiya persists.

“Two!” he yells out, as he closes his eyes.

“Good,” she answers, as she unbuttons his shirt.

He’s already in shock from her bold questions, but the undressing has his brain completely frazzled.  He pushes his shirt off his shoulders, as she kisses him again.

“I love you too,” she whispers into his ear.

“You do?” he asks in confusion, as he opens one eye to peek at her.

“I do.  And, we’ve been with the same number of partners, so we’re on equal footing there as well.  Unless it bothers you that I’m not a virgin.”

“Hell no,” he answers, as he kisses her back more passionately than before.

“Good, because I’ve waited way too long for you to take me to bed.”

_Is he dreaming?  Is this really happening right now?_ He has never been a ladies man.  He was always the guy with his head stuck in a book instead of learning how to swing a sword.  For some strange reason, Jiya loves him anyway.

The next thing he knows, Jiya’s pushing him onto the bed.  She stands at the foot of the bed, as she removes her shirt and pants. 

“You can take your own damn pants off though,” she orders.

Rufus scrambles to untie his pants as fast as he can before Jiya practically launches herself onto him.  She kisses him passionately, but he cups her cheeks and pulls back for a second.

“What now?” Jiya asks in frustration.

“I’m just checking to make sure your eyes are still brown.”

“Mother’s mercy!  Rufus, I am me.  Yes, I have two elementals chilling in here, but have I once lost control?”

“But, Lucy-”

“Lucy’s carrying around a lot more power and volatility than I am.  It’s completely different for her.  Una is very sweet and she keeps the grumpy gnome in check so I don’t have to.  Trust me, Rufus.  This is all my own doing.”

“Thank the gods,” he mutters.

It doesn’t take long for either of them to reach climax.  He pulls her close to his body afterwards, wanting to cuddle. 

“Mmm, my literal knight in shining armor,” Jiya muses.

“Minus the armor,” he jokes.

“Well, we’ll just have to see the blacksmith about that, won’t we?”

Suddenly, the horn blows and they both bolt upright in bed.

“Not today we won’t,” Rufus states with a look of worry.

“Tomorrow.”

“We don’t know there will be a tomorrow.”

“Yes, we do.  I’m going to make sure we do,” Jiya states with authority, as she kisses him once more.

They throw their clothes back on and make their way back to the castle courtyard.  Jiya waits for Flynn in the courtyard and Rufus heads up the stairs to the battlements.

Lucy peers out the window of her chamber, the lanterns and torches covering the castle in an orange glow.  The sylph and salamander have been jockeying for control for the last ten minutes and she’s getting a major headache.  All she wants is a few hours alone with Garcia one last time. 

Snow rubs against her leg and she reaches down absent-mindedly and pets the wolf.  He must sense her tension.  She can’t explain it, but she has an incredible bond with him.  It’s not quite as intuitive as Flynn and Jiya and their dragons, but it’s close. 

The door creaks open a moment later and Lucy glances back as Flynn shuts the door.  When he spies the wolf, he opens the door again and waves his hand.  Snow tilts his head at him strangely, then rubs on Lucy’s leg again for more attention.

“Apparently, he’s not going anywhere right now,” Flynn states in a huff, as he shuts the door once more.

“I don’t think he’ll leave my side until this is over one way or another,” she answers, as she turns around and closes the space between them.

“Lucy-”

“Shhh,” she hushes, as she puts her finger to his lips.

“But, Lu-”

“Not now,” she commands, as she grabs a fistful of tunic.

She’s not giving him a chance to say no (or breathe for that matter).  She pulls furiously at the laces on his tunic.  He wraps his arms around her and tugs her towards him.  His mouth trails down to her neck as he unclasps her dress. 

“I love you, Garcia,” she whispers, as he continues his ministrations down her neck.

He stops kissing her and glances up.  She can see how much it’s affecting him, as his eyes pool with water like an emerald lake.  She cups his cheeks in her hands and stares directly into his eyes.

“I. Love. You,” she states emphatically.

“I’ve been waiting for an eternity to hear you speak those three words.  I love you so much that it’s unbearable sometimes.”

Lucy slides her arms up his chest and around his neck.

“Well then, the only thing left to do is to love each other for however long we have left,” she declares, as she pushes him onto the bed.

She manages to get his pants off with his help and they re-position themselves on the middle of the bed.  He works a trail from her neck to her breast and sucks it to a peak.  He slides over to do the same to her other breast when he suddenly stops.

“What?  What’s wrong?” Lucy pants.

“He’s staring at me.”

“What?”

“The wolf is staring at me and I don’t like the look I’m getting.  I think he thinks I’m hurting you,” Flynn explains.

Lucy rolls her eyes and shoves his head back down.

“Ignore it.”

Flynn continues his ministrations, slowly moving down her body.  She gasps loudly when his tongue finds her entrance.  He chuckles slightly, vibrating waves of pleasure through her.  Then, Snow starts growling.

“Lay down Sn-Snow!” Lucy shrieks, as his tongue curls around her clit.

She’s felt really awful lately, so the elation she is currently experiencing is downright heavenly.  She never wants this feeling to fade, yet she knows that it will, even if her love for him will never diminish.  The tension in her body snaps a second later and she yells his name in ecstasy.

“Lucy,” he whispers, as he kisses back up her body.

“Mmm,” she purrs.

He kisses up to her neck and buries his head into her hair.

“Say it again,” he whispers.

“Say what again?” she asks playfully.

“I want to hear you say it _again_.”

He kisses up her jaw line and meets her lips.  She knows what he wants.  She would love to torture him a little bit longer if they had more time.  She cups his cheeks in her hands and forces him to lock eyes with her.

“I, Lucy of House Preston, puppet of elementals, lady of absolutely nothing, am hopelessly and utterly in love with you, Garcia of House Flynn, First of His Name, King of Ritten and Protector of the Realm,” she deadpans.

He stares back at her in bewilderment for a few moments, then kisses her right wrist.

“You are maddening at times!”

“Just one reason why you love me,” Lucy teases.

He chuckles and then flips them over deftly so that she’s now the one on top. 

“ _Is_ it now?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow at her.

Lucy doesn’t respond verbally, but instead straddles him and rocks her hips gently.  He rises up, wrapping his arms around her and carding his fingers through her hair. They kiss tenderly and deeply, as they rock in a rapturous rhythm.  Both of them are clinging to the other as though they are literally attempting to meld into one being. 

She’s sweating profusely at this point, her body temperature growing into a dangerously high fever.  They’re both gasping for air, edging closer and closer to release.  He kisses her hard, almost possessively, as she arches her back and has the best orgasm of her shortly-lived sex life.  He follows suit a second later, drooping his head onto her shoulder.  They stay intertwined for a little while, pressing soft kisses to each other’s lips as they gaze into one another’s eyes.  Exhaustion sets in shortly thereafter and they fall into a satiating sleep. 

Hours later, when the horn blows three times, they both wake up and glance at each other.  They both understand the odds that they face and they also know this could very well be the last time they are in each other’s arms.  Well, in Lucy’s case, she’s pretty sure this is the last time.  She cups his cheeks and studies his face before passionately kissing him one more time.  She closes her eyes committing this moment to her memory.  When the time comes, she wants this to be the last thing she thinks about, her final thought before the darkness claims her. 

 


	35. The Long Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle between life and death wages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra long chapter ahead. Please excuse any typos or grammar goofs, because I can't edit this one more time without my eyes crossing.

Lucy and Flynn exit the castle and make their way to the courtyard where Jiya is waiting for them.  Her wolf howls and the remainder of the wolf pack descend upon the castle from the surrounding woods.  He doesn’t like this plan one bit.  He wants to be the one to protect Lucy.  She tries to let go of his hand, but he holds on and pulls her back into his arms.  Their foreheads touch and they close their eyes and breathe each other in.  It feels like goodbye and that’s the last thing he can handle about now.

He tips his head and kisses her softly.

“I love you, Garcia,” she whispers.

“I love you too, Lucy.  I _need_ you to come back to me.”

She smiles crookedly back at him, which puts him ill at ease.  He sighs heavily, then releases her hand and turns towards the Godsgarden where Maelstrom awaits him. 

“Jiya wait!” Lucy yells.

He stops walking and turns back to see Lucy hug Jiya.  He figures he’ll just wait until they talk and then he and Jiya can mount their dragons together.  He wants to go back over the plan with her anyway.  Not that they haven’t gone over it a dozen times already, but he’d feel better if they did it one more time.

He’s not trying to eavesdrop on their conversation, so his mind wanders back to their battle plan.  Suddenly, he hears Jiya scream out in pain.  He glances up and sees Lucy squeezing Jiya’s forearms with all her might, as Jiya tries to escape in vain.  Before he can move to find out what in seven hells is going on, Jiya doubles over and a yellow mist floats from her mouth and into Lucy’s.  A green mist follows the yellow one and Lucy releases her grip a second later.  Jiya stands up, her eyes blinking and mouth agape.  Lucy stumbles slightly, but then rights herself.  Jiya shuffles backwards as Lucy’s demeanor changes again.  He can see her eyes change into a mangled mush of four different colors, and it hits him with such a force that he freezes completely.  All four of the elementals are now inside Lucy.  This was her plan all along.  She basically used Jiya as a storage container. 

Lucy doesn’t say another word, she just turns and strolls towards the castle gate.  Jiya stands there speechless, still reeling from what just happened to her.  He rushes to Jiya’s side and puts his arm around her shoulder.

“Jiya, are you alright?”

“I…yeah, I am,” Jiya answers, as she looks at her hands in disbelief.

“What happened?”

He doesn’t really know why he’s asking her seeing that he saw everything with his own eyes.

“The salamander took over Lucy’s body and then removed the elementals from me.  The undine, Una, she-she apologized to me before she left.”

“Jiya, I’m so sorry.  I had no idea about any of this.”

He desperately needs her to believe and trust in him.  They need each other more than ever.

“I know.  We don’t have time for this.  I’m fine.  Let’s go,” she insists.

They walk to the Godsgarden and are about to climb onto their dragons, when Jiya places a hand on his forearm.  He turns back to her with concern spread across his face.  She hands him a scroll and he quirks an eyebrow in confusion.

“What is this?” he questions.

“Anthony’s scroll.  You should keep it on you.  If you’re ever going to be able to read it, tonight’s the night,” Jiya answers with sincerity.

He’s confused by how she got this, since he remembers her giving it to him once before.

“How-”

“You left it on the table with the maps,” Jiya answers, as if she read his mind.

He opens it again, yet the words are still a jumbled mess.

“Anything?” Jiya asks.

“Just a bunch of random letters.  Anthony could have been wrong about this, Jiya.”

“I know.  Better safe than sorry, right?”

He chuckles as he rolls the scroll back up and tucks it inside his tunic.

“Anthony said the chosen one will be able to read it when the time comes.  I’m confident that time will reveal itself to you some time this evening,” she states confidently, as she climbs onto her dragon.

Flynn climbs on as well and they both take flight.  They need to stay close enough to Lucy to intercept Emma, but far enough away to lure her in.  They take flight and try to spot the army of the dead.  It is pitch black out on the moors and all they hear is the howling wind.  They’re too high up to hear anything moving on the ground, so they circle back towards the castle to take their respective positions. 

Wyatt mounts his horse, then spins the horse around to view the soldiers behind him.  He’s leading the Dunish cavalry, the remainder of the infantry flanking them on both sides.  They can hear the army of the dead as they traverse across the moor, but they cannot see them.  The night is moonless, as an inky darkness blankets the sky.  The dead do not speak, but instead let out high-pitched screams like rabid wild beasts. 

The trenches and barricades are behind the infantry, shadowglass covering their spikes.  The trenches remain unlit at the moment, but they know they will need to light them eventually.  They can’t do it now, as it would mean certain death to anyone outside the castle walls, including himself. 

He’s not crazy about this battle plan, but admits he hasn’t come up with anything better.  They’re going to charge the dead and take down as many as they can before they reach the castle gates.  The dead are without a doubt on foot, which should provide them an extra edge.  They need to thin out the herd so to speak, because even if they were all behind the castle walls they could not fend off the million or so dead warriors.  They don’t sleep, they don’t eat and they don’t tire. 

The screams of the dead grow louder by the second and Wyatt’s horse begins to get skittish.  He’s about to give the order to charge, when he notices Lucy walking slowly towards him.  The soldiers move out of the way as she approaches.

“Lucy, what the hell are you doing?”

Lucy turns and gives him a death stare, but it’s not really Lucy.  He’s not sure which one of them it is, (since he’s having trouble remembering which elemental has what eye color), but her eyes glow a ruby red back at him. 

“Raise your swords,” she instructs the men.

Wyatt looks down at her in confusion, but the Dunish cavalry do as she says anyway.  She gives him another death glare, then grabs the sword of the man closest to her.

“Lagro.”

A second after she utters the word, the Dunish cavalry’s swords ignite in flames.  Without uttering another word, Lucy turns and strolls back inside the castle gates, before they shut and bar them. 

Wyatt draws his shadowglass sword and thrusts it into the air signaling the charge.  They ride out in formation, swords flaming bright orange in the blackness.  He urges his horse down the rolling moor, sword at the ready.  It is so dark, he can barely see his horse’s head.  The next thing he knows, the dead are on them.

Rufus, Amy and Kevin stand on top of the battlements and watch as Wyatt and the Dunish cavalry charge.  The flaming swords are all they can see as the men move away from the castle.  They can hear the shrieks of the dead echoing across the moor and wait with nervous anticipation to see if the first wave of attack is successful.  In horrifying fashion, they watch helplessly as the ebony air consumes the flaming swords of the cavalry.  A few minutes later, less than half their cavalry retreat in haste back to the castle.  Rufus spies Wyatt among them and breathes out a heavy sigh.

He turns to Amy and Kevin and tries to wipe the expression of panic from his face, but does not completely succeed.

“Get to the crypts,” he orders.

“I’m not abandoning my people,” Amy replies staunchly.

“You’re not abandoning anyone.  Your people need you down in the crypts.”

Amy tries to argue with him, but Rufus is adamant.  He turns to his little brother Kevin, eyes wide with disbelief at the site across the moor.  He opens his fur-lined cape and hands a shadowglass dagger to Kevin.

“Do you know how to use this?” Rufus questions.

Kevin nods and Rufus hesitates, still holding the dagger tightly. 

“Do you?” he asks again.

Kevin huffs in annoyance.

“Stick ’em with the pointy end,” Kevin answers with a smirk.

Rufus chuckles as he hands him the dagger.  He reaches into his cloak and pulls out another one for Amy.  She shakes her head and opens her own cloak to reveal two shadowglass daggers of her own.

“Come along, Kevin.  It’s time to join the others,” Amy advises, as she takes his hand.

Karl has fought in a lot of battles, but this is completely new territory for the self-proclaimed soldier of fortune.  Flynn is certainly not paying him enough to fight an army of dead zombies.  He has just watched Wyatt and the Dunish cavalry charge the enemy and then scatter back with their tails between their legs.  These are elite soldiers like him and the rest of the people here aren’t even close.  _They are so fucked._

His hand grasps his sword with an iron grip as he stares into the darkness.  The torches emit enough light to see a small distance in front of them, but it’s not much.  By the time the dead are visible, they swarm them like a tidal wave.  The dead slam into him and he falls to the ground.  The dead pounce on top of him and he’s struggling to breathe, let alone fight back.  The next thing he knows, the dead men on top of him stop moving and a hand pulls him upright.  Jorsten nods in his direction and the two of them start hacking away at the dead as best they can.  They’re really outnumbered and are getting knocked around quite a bit.  Slowly but surely, they’re getting beaten back towards the castle walls.  They’re going to have to sound the retreat faster than they anticipated.

Suddenly, a burst of flame lights up the sky and a large portion of the army of the dead.  Another flame burns the dead from the opposite direction.  Flynn and Jiya crisscross in the sky, bathing the dead in dragonfire.  _They may survive this night yet._   As the dragons make another pass, a snowstorm strikes and extinguishes the dragonfire. _Maybe not._

__

Flynn can barely see between the snow and wind and the fact that he’s riding a dragon.  The wind makes it difficult for Maelstrom to fly and the dragon needs to compensate and course correct more frequently.  The snow and wind obscure his view of the ground, which is problematic since they need to be able to see Rufus’ signal to light the trenches. He’s hoping that Jiya is having better luck, but he has no idea where she is right now.  She could literally be flying right next to him and he wouldn’t know it.

The dragonfire is proving to be less effective than he was hoping.  The storm keeps extinguishing the flames before they can burn a significant amount of their enemy’s army.  This is not good.  He’s trying to watch out for Emma and fly through a storm, and he can’t get too far away from Lucy.  He’s gripping Maelstrom’s spines with all his might, ever thankful that the dragon seems to sense his instructions and directions and vice versa.  It’s still strange to him to be so in tune with an animal.  From what he’s been able to gather, dragonriders tend to bond with their dragons when they’re much younger.  This allows the dragon and the rider to grow together as they age, or in some cases with dragons that have had previous riders that they have outlived, to grow trust between the new rider and the dragon.  The latter is the case between himself and Maelstrom, yet the dragon seems to have bonded with him particularly fast.  Perhaps it was the fact that Jiya and he freed it from its prison.

Suddenly, Maelstrom veers to the left and Flynn feels a light bump to the dragon’s right side.  Amazingly, they almost collide with Jiya and Blaze, but Maelstrom course corrects in the last possible second.  Otherwise, this could have all been over right then and there.  Jiya and he both breathe a sigh of relief.  They then urge their dragons to climb higher in order to get out of the storm and regroup.

__

Rufus yells down into the courtyard to open the gates.  The retreat from the field has begun and the defense of the castle proper is the next failsafe to defend. The castle gates open and the northern army begins to pour inside.  The archers from the battlements cover their retreat, as well as a large chunk of the remaining infantry consisting of their best fighters.  Wyatt, Aevin, Karl and Jorsten are all urging their respective men to retreat, as they keep getting pushed further back by the army of the dead.

The main portion of the army has already made it through the castle gates, and the group of infantry pulls back behind the trenches and barricades.  Wyatt yells up to Rufus to give the signal to light the trenches.  Rufus ignites his two torches and raises them into the air.  He waves them with fervent urgency.  They need to get these trenches lit to get the rest of their men inside and protect the castle.  The winds are blowing the torches’ flame and threaten to blow them out completely. 

He waits for a few minutes, but nothing happens.  _They can’t see us._

“Light the trenches!” he screams at the top of his lungs down to the battlefield below.

He instructs the archers to aim their flaming arrows at the trenches as well.  Men run with torches in hand towards the trenches, but are taken out by the army of the dead.  The archers aren’t having any better luck, the driving wind and snow snuffing out the flame before it can ignite.  Over and over again, they try to no avail.

Rufus has no idea what the hell to do now.  As he glances back down, he sees Jorsten leading a group of Goran towards the trenches. They march in a tight shield wall formation until they reach the barricades.  They collapse the formation outwardly and Lucy steps forward. She kneels down next to the barricade and places her hand on the wooden spike in the trench.  She’s mumbling and chanting something that Rufus cannot hear, but again nothing is happening.  The dead continue to crash into the barricades and close in upon Lucy.

“Lagro!” she shrieks.

Suddenly, the wooden stake bursts into flames.  The flames spread down to the bottom of the spike and then out and down the rest of the trench.  Within minutes, the flames surround the entire castle.  The dead stop in their tracks, not daring to cross the fire line.  The remainder of the infantry outside the castle gates pour back in and the gates are barred. 

__

Emma rides her dragon, Frostbite, towards the front of the castle.  She brings the storm with her, which keeps Flynn and Jiya off her back while she assesses the situation on the ground.  Her army is greater than theirs and she feels like it’s just a matter of time until she is queen of everything and everyone.  She’s drawn towards the Godsgarden, the ancient power calls out to her.  Emma revels in the chance to kill her niece and the elementals in one fell swoop.  Once that’s over, no one will be able to stop her.  She’ll even be able to acquire additional dragons once she kills Jiya and Flynn.

Unfortunately, her army is stuck, as the flaming trenches prevent them from attacking the castle.  She hovers over the battlefield and then stretches her arms forward.  A few members of the army of the dead walk straight into the flames and fall over dead a moment later.  Then, the next man behind him does the same.  The process repeats itself over and over until they have smothered enough of the flames to build a make-shift bridge across the trench.  The dead swarm over their fallen comrades and across the trenches and begin to climb the castle walls.

She spies Flynn on his dragon coming at her and she orders Frostbite to soar up and above the cloud cover to hide.  She knows he’ll follow her and fall into her trap just like she planned.

__

Amy and Kevin join the rest of the women, children, elderly and Sir Connor in the crypts.  Sir Connor grabs Kevin when he sees him and chastises him for being on the battlements when the fighting started.  Kevin rolls his eyes at his father, and settles down next to Jessica and Amy in the crypts.

Amy knows Sir Connor can tell from the expression on her face that things are not going well up above.  She feels utterly useless down here and Amy Preston is _not_ utterly useless.  She’s terrified for Lucy and Aevin, as well as everyone else.  Everyone down here is looking to her for strength and comfort, but she’s having a hard time providing it at the moment.  She’s never been a comforting kind of person.  That was always Lucy.

A soldier yells through the entrance door to the crypts that the trenches have been lit.  Many of the people hiding with her breathe a sigh of relief.  They can’t hear anything from above, so they rely on intelligence being yelled through the door every so often.  She’s growing more anxious by the second and the creepiness factor from being down here is not helping at all.  Yes, she played in here as a child, but even then the place had an eerie vibe to it. 

“At least if we die, we’re already in a crypt,” Sir Connor states, as he glances over at Amy.

“Not helping.”

“I really wanted to be a mom and raise my baby,” Jessica adds, as she stares at her feet.

“We haven’t lost yet.  Don’t give up hope,” Amy responds.

“Huh! Hope,” Sir Connor declares with a sarcastic tone, as he takes a swig of his stash of wine.

Amy grabs the sack of wine from Sir Connor’s hand and takes a swig herself.

“I wish I could have a drink.  I really need one right about now,” Jessica chuckles.

“I’ll have an extra one just for you,” Sir Connor slurs, as he snatches the satchel back from Amy.

It’s now Amy’s turn to roll her eyes.  Jessica leans over and asks to speak to Amy in private.  Amy gets up and they move a few feet away.

“I need to go to the bathroom. Will you come with me?” Jessica asks.

Amy and Jessica wander further down into the crypts and Jessica finds a spot in one of the oldest sections to relieve her aching bladder.

“Thank you for doing this for me,” Jessica states shyly.  “I know we haven’t been your favorite people.  I’m sorry about what Wyatt did.”

“It’s not your fault.  I could’ve handled myself better as well.  But, there is something you can do to repay me,” Amy informs her.

“Name it.”

“Come with me,” Amy instructs.

She leads Jessica through the maze and back towards Sir Connor when she stops them.

“I need you to create a distraction so I can slip out of here.  Once I’m gone, I need you to bar the door again.”

“What?  You can’t go up there!” Jessica declares.

“Keep your voice down.”

“Amy, you’ll get yourself killed.”

“I can fight. I’m going to make sure my sister is protected.  If you won’t help me, I’ll just do it myself,” Amy exclaims, as she opens her cape to show Jessica she’s already armed to the nines.

Jessica finally acquiesces.  She stands and blocks the view to the front door while speaking to Sir Connor.  It allows Amy just enough time to sneak by and make her way out of the crypts. 

__

Flynn spies Emma on her dragon and races up after her into the cloud cover.  He finally flies high enough that the storm is no longer an issue.  Jiya joins him on Blaze a second later.  They hover above the clouds and search for Emma, but she’s nowhere to be seen.  Suddenly, a blue flame flies up from beneath them and almost strikes Jiya.  She has to fly up even higher to escape Emma and her dragon.  Flynn takes off on Maelstrom and follows them, but Emma manages to disappear once again.  She’s toying with them now and he’s had just about enough of it.

He dives down through the cloud cover and flies back towards the castle.  He needs to check on Lucy anyway.  Jiya catches up with him and they fly side-by-side across the moor, burning the dead as they go. 

They still can’t find Emma and they can’t get too close to Lucy or Emma won’t attack her.  It’s driving him absolutely out of his mind.  His job is to protect Lucy, the woman he loves more than anything.  He doesn’t care what happens to him, but he has to save her.  He _has_ to. 

As he flies closer to the castle, he sees the dead swarming up the walls like insects.  They’re going to be overrun.  He can’t exactly blast his own people with dragonfire either.  They’re going to need help, but he can’t abandon his position in the skies. 

He circles back and stays on the perimeter as he searches for Emma.  The storm is still raging and it’s hard for him to see anything again.  If he climbs higher, he might be able to spot her, but if she makes a beeline for Lucy, he won’t get to her in time.  He’s stuck between a rock and a hard place and he’s wracking his brain for what to do.  All he knows is that he needs to do something soon.

__

Rufus watches in horror as the dead smother the fire along the trenches and pour over them.  They rush the base of the walls and pile on top of each other creating a ladder of bodies. 

“Man the walls!” Rufus commands.

Wyatt, Denise, Karl, and Jorsten climb the stairs and spread out along the battlements.  Rufus pulls out his shadowglass dagger and takes a deep breath, as he waits for the dead to reach the top of the walls.  He spots the first one stick its head up as it tries to climb over the wall and stabs it.  It falls down dead to the ground just as the next one is in his face.  He stabs that one as well and the next one is up even faster.  He repeats this process over and over again, breathing harder and harder as the storm stirs snow in his face. 

The dead breach the battlements and swarm over the walls.  Rufus gets knocked to the ground, a dead soldier’s dagger an inch from his chest.  He screams and yells and struggles to no avail. 

The next thing he knows, the dead soldier falls forward onto him and stops moving.  He glances up and sees Karl reaching down with his hand to help him back to his feet.  He nods thanks to Karl and steadies his feet.  He’s about to turn back around when Karl stumbles forward, a sword poking out of his torso.  The dead soldier behind Karl pulls back the blade and Karl crumbles to the ground dead. 

Rufus screams and runs for the stairs that leads down from the battlements to the courtyard.  He’s scared out of his mind and his heart is racing.  He’s normally not such a coward, but this is just too much.  His mind cannot handle the fact that a man he’s known for a long time was just murdered in front of him by a dead zombie.  His escape route is cut off by the army of the dead and he’s trapped.  He quickly glances around and sees Wyatt and Denise fighting back to back on the other side of the battlements.  There is no one to help him right now. 

Suddenly, he feels someone behind him.  He turns and finds Amy, shadowglass spear in hand, taking on three dead soldiers at once.  She spins and stabs the dead without hesitation, clearing a path on her way to him.  Once she clears out the dead, she grabs Rufus by the hand and escorts him back down to the courtyard.  Amy pats Rufus on the shoulder and then takes off towards the Godsgarden. 

__

After lighting the trenches, Lucy makes her way to the Godsgarden, the wolf pack in tow behind her.  She was already weak when she had two elementals inhabiting her body, but now that all four are inside her, she’s struggling mightily.  She trudges through the snow and makes her way to the huge birch tree next to the pond.  She takes a seat on one of its large roots.  The wolf pack surrounds the tree, Snow perching right in front of her.  She can feel the power surging in her veins and something within her tells her that a dragon draws near.  She has no idea if she can prevail against Emma, but she has to give it her all and listen to what the elementals tell her to do.  She’s completely dependent upon them and the wolves for her safety, yet she already knows she won’t survive this ordeal.  She just hopes she can save the people she loves before it happens. 

She hears the wings of a dragon behind her.  She turns her head, expecting to find Emma, but instead finds the blue dragon.  He’s just sitting there staring back at her like he’s waiting for something or someone. 

A second later she hears the sound of footsteps in the opposite direction.  She pivots and sees her sister running towards her.  Lucy tries to tell her to stay put, afraid of how the dragon will react, but to her shock the dragon moves even closer once he spots Amy.  Amy stops once she’s a few feet from Lucy.

“I’m not letting Emma win this time,” Amy announces.

Lucy nods her head and Amy cautiously approaches her.

“I can protect you, Lucy.  I know you don’t believe it, but I can fight,” Amy advises.

“Amy,” Lucy says as she takes her sister’s hands in hers, “I know you can fight.  I know you _will_ fight.  But you cannot fight for me.  This is a task that I must do alone.”

“But, Lucy-”

“No buts, Ames.  Emma will destroy you if you stay.  She’s no longer human, as am I.  Take your dragon and go.  You can’t help me defeat Emma, but you can help Flynn and Jiya defeat the army of the dead.”

“I am not leaving you here unprotected,” Amy declares staunchly.

“I’m not unprotected.  I have the wolves and the elementals’ power.  This has all been foreseen.  Fate has already decided whether we win this fight or not.”

Lucy pauses and pulls her sister in for an embrace.

“I’m proud of you, Ames.  You’re strong and brave and spunky and witty.  You’re the best sister anyone could ever have,” Lucy states, as tears pool in her eyes.

“Lucy…you’re the strongest person I know.  You can beat her, I know you can.”

Lucy nods, then lowers her head.  She feels that familiar suffocating feeling and knows that the sylph is taking over her body.  She lifts her head back up and flashes her blue eyes at Amy.

“Time to go,” the sylph states with authority.

Amy jumps back a little, but nods her head in understanding.  She takes two steps back, pauses and then walks towards her dragon.  She climbs on, pats him and leans down towards its head.

“Evolo,” Amy states to her dragon.

The dragon flaps its wings and takes a few steps before it soars into the sky.  As soon as Amy has taken off, a group of dead soldiers stampede into the Godsgarden.  Snow stays in front of Lucy, while the remainder of the wolf pack charge.  They hunt in numbers as they do in the wild, and quickly dispatch the dead by shredding them to pieces.  Lucy knows it shouldn’t be long if the dead have already breached the castle. She just has to sit and wait for her nemesis to arrive.

__

Flynn spies Emma up ahead of him on her dragon.  She’s making a beeline for the castle and he needs to catch her before she reaches Lucy.  He urges Maelstrom to fly faster and his dragon drafts off of Emma and begins to gain some ground.  It still impresses him how intelligent dragons are, and a simple gesture or command from him is becoming less and less necessary as Maelstrom begins to feel his own emotional state. 

He’s gaining ground on Emma little by little, but when he glances back up again through the driving snow, he gasps in horror as Emma’s dragon lets out a blast of blue fire at one of the castle towers.  The force of the blast is monumental, collapsing part of the tower and connecting battlements.  She flies up slightly to avoid the remnants of the blue flame and soars over the castle walls heading towards the Godsgarden.  Flynn is close enough to Emma to attack, but flying on the dragon is requiring the use of both of his hands, which means he can’t reach his sword.  A flash of tactical brilliance enters his brain and he veers off Emma’s tail with a hard yank of the dragon’s spines. 

Emma and Frostbite hover over the Godsgarden.  Flynn can see she’s about to attack, so he needs to make his move now.  He circles to the back of Frostbite and dives down towards the ground.  He knows that Maelstrom will pull up soon since the dragon’s too smart to crash, but he needs to build up the necessary speed for this maneuver.  He yanks the spines in an upward motion and the dragon pulls up like a slingshot.  He can barely see through the wind, snow and darkness, but he positions the dragon exactly how he wants him.  As Frostbite opens his mouth to blast the Godsgarden, Maelstrom slams into his underbelly.  Maelstrom digs his talons into Frostbite’s tail and underbelly and bites down on the dragon’s hindquarters.  The force of the impact spins Frostbite upside down for a moment before he claws and bites back.  The dragons spin in the skies as they continue to claw, bite and scratch each other.  Flynn is holding on for dear life.  Even if he could reach his sword, he can’t exactly wield it spinning upside down constantly. 

They manage to separate momentarily.  Emma grabs her ice spear and points it in Flynn’s direction.  Without thinking, he lets go of the dragon’s spines with his right hand and reaches across the left side of his body to unsheathe his own sword.  The dragons fly directly at each other and he has the sudden flashback of tilting the lists as a young man at a tournament at Shadowspear.  _Except now, it’s_ _dragon jousting._  

They make the first pass and their weapons collide in a thunderous echo.  They both circle back and charge at each other again.  Emma might have been a dragonrider longer than he has, but he knows she has less experience in jousting.  He understands how to lull his opponent into a false sense of overconfidence and he plans to put that knowledge to good use.  On their second pass, he lets her strike his weapon first, which causes his arm to snap back slightly.  He wants her to think she’s overpowering him, but in reality, the angle of his sword is perfect for his intention.  As they complete the second pass, Flynn thrusts his sword in a downward motion and it pierces Frostbite’s wing.  The dragon screeches in pain and tries to adjust its flight pattern. His right wing is severely damaged and this causes him to turn earlier than Flynn expects.  As the dragon turns, he spews forth his blue flame directly toward Flynn. Instinctively, Flynn holds up the only thing he can: his sword.  He doesn’t even have time to process his imminent death.

Amazingly, the dragonsteel sword protects him from the blue flame, but the sword retains an eerie blue glow afterwards.  The dragons make another pass and Maelstrom goes in for the attack, which is not what Flynn wanted.  It’s the first time he and his dragon haven’t been on the same page and the mistake is a costly one.  Emma’s ice spear strikes the blade and the tip of the sword shatters. It slips from his hands, falling to the Godsgarden below.  Frostbite ducks Maelstrom’s charge and Flynn’s dragon winds up taking a nasty gash to his underbelly.  He’s now defenseless against Emma except for Maelstrom.  _He’s going to die.  He’s going to fail Lucy again_.

Maelstrom and Frostbite continue their battle and he successfully draws Emma away from the Godsgarden and outside the castle walls.  Suddenly, out of nowhere, Amy appears on the blue dragon and slams into Emma, knocking her off the dragon.  Emma freefalls to the ground, landing on her back with a thud and puff of snow.  Maelstrom and Frostbite claw and bite each other, inflicting wound upon wound until both dragons fall from the sky. 

Maelstrom rights himself, but still is heading down for a rocky landing on the moor outside the castle.  The force of the crash-landing throws Flynn off of him.  He slams hard into the ice and snow, sliding a few feet before his body finally comes to a stop.  He stumbles to his feet, gasping for air.  The frozen air burns his lungs as he inhales.  He glances skyward in search of Frostbite, but all he can see is Amy on the blue dragon.  _How the hell?_

He gazes across the moor and spots Emma standing there defiantly.  Amy and the blue dragon hover above her.  An instant later, the blue dragon spits fire at Emma.  When he stops spewing flame, Flynn can see that Emma is still standing there smirking.  The dragonfire did nothing to her.  She appears to be impervious to it.  Emma grabs one of her ice spears and chucks it in Amy’s direction.  Amy and the dragon avoid the spear, but have to flee.

Emma turns and starts walking towards the castle.  Flynn starts running on foot as well, desperate to make up the ground between them.  She’s heading right for Lucy and he needs to get there to protect her.  He’s trying to move as stealthily as he can, but Emma senses his presence and turns back around.  Her icy blue eyes stare back at him with a lifeless luminosity.  It’s completely different than what Lucy looks like when the sylph has control of her.  Emma seems mindless and emotionless, yet in reality he knows that’s not the case. 

She smirks at him again and then begins to slowly lift her arms into the air.  The bodies of the living who fell earlier in the battle begin to twitch and jerk.  Their eyelids fly open and sport the same infamous, iridescent blue that Emma has.  Flynn grabs a shadowspear dagger from one of the nearby fallen and takes off running towards Emma.  _If only he can get to her before she finishes raising the dead, he might be able to kill her._   He only makes it halfway before the dead stand back up and encircle him. 

Emma turns and strolls back towards the castle, as the dead creep closer and closer to him.   Hundreds of dead now stand between him and Emma, between him and Lucy.  Fortunately, the dead only charge him a few at a time, and he’s able to fend them off.  He won’t be able to fend them off forever, though.  He can see Jiya on her dragon in the distance, still burning the army of the dead left on the battlefield.  She can’t get any closer to the castle or she’ll risk burning the living to a crisp. 

Suddenly, a flame flies over his head from behind and the dead burn and fall to the ground in front of him.  He spins around in his confusion and sees Amy land her dragon a short distance from him.  He now has a clear path to the castle.

“Help Lucy!” Amy yells. 

Flynn nods and takes off running towards the castle gate.

__

Kevin stares across the aisle at his father.  He’s been sitting with Jessica listening to the sounds of the castle soldiers from above.  He can’t believe that his father still hasn’t noticed that Amy left.  He’s so bored down here.  He’d much rather be upstairs watching the battle.  He was mesmerized when he was up there earlier.  He probably should have been more scared, but he wasn’t.  It’s not like it was the first time he’s ever seen a battle or dead people.  Unfortunately, death has been a consistent part of his life for as long as he can remember.  Growing up on the streets of Riya provided daily reminders of how fragile life can be.  Whether it was the death of his mother when he was a toddler, or the countless children he played with that suddenly passed away from illness or disease, he’s seen his fair share of death.  This is also the reason why he loved to follow the mercenaries into the market.  He’d watch them from the shadows or flit in between the stalls.  A few of them, like Karl, actually showed him a few moves with a blade, although he never let his father or brother know.  They wouldn’t have understood.  They never understand.  He’s just always been a burden, something under foot that they have to worry about. 

He thought it might change when they came here, but it didn’t; not until he met Lucy.  Lucy let him be him.  Sure, she would correct his grammar or pronunciation to a word he didn’t know, but she never tried to mold him into someone else or make him feel bad for being afraid of learning how to swim.  Flynn also treated him pretty decently, but he would only let him watch when he was doing his weapon’s training.  At least he promised to teach him how to fight when he gets older.

Suddenly, they hear pounding on the doors to the crypt.

“Let us in!  Let us in!” soldiers scream.

The doors stop rattling and the soldiers go silent a moment later.  Everyone in the crypts looks around nervously.

“Where’s Amy?” Sir Connor whispers.

“She left a while ago,” Kevin whispers back.

“What?”

Kevin shakes his head at his father and Jessica nods in agreement with him.  The crypts are completely silent, except for the sounds of breathing from its current occupants.  A few moments later, they start to hear scratching and banging coming from within the crypts.  Screams erupt from further back and people start running for their lives, as the deceased members of House Preston come back to life.  Most of the people down here are defenseless and unarmed.  Chaos ensues and his father grabs his hand and takes off running. 

They fly down the corridors of the crypts and make it to the corner before a bunch of women and children come running at them.  The dead are chasing them and Kevin gets separated from his dad in the madness.  Thankfully, Jessica grabs his hand and the two of them find an abandoned crypt to hide behind. 

Jessica looks at him as they try to catch their breath.  Of course he’s scared, but Jessica appears even more terrified than he is.  He squeezes her hand and she starts breathing at a more relaxed rate.  Kevin reaches with his other hand into his cloak and pulls out the shadowglass dagger that Rufus had given him earlier.  Jessica stares back at him is disbelief. 

Neither of them want to discuss the situation, nor do they want to talk and risk being discovered by the dead.  They sit there quietly for a few more minutes, then suddenly the dead grab Jessica.  She shrieks and screams and tries to break free, but two of the dead are holding onto her.  Kevin jumps up and springs into action.  He charges at the first dead person and stabs them with his dagger.  The second dead man is pulling Jessica by her hair.  He maneuvers around Jessica’s side and plunges his dagger into the second one.  Jessica is gasping for breath and still in shock.  He calls her name and tugs at her hand, but she doesn’t respond.  More dead stumble down the corridor towards them.  Jessica is still unresponsive and he doesn’t know how to reach her.  He may only be ten years old, but he knows he has to protect her.  His mind flashes back to those lessons and tricks of the trade Karl taught him.  He’s going to have to try to fend them off since they can’t go down the other side of the corridor, the ceiling having collapsed long ago.  It’s fight or die at this point and he’s going to fight. 

A woman who barely appears dead is the first to descend upon them.  She swipes a hand at him, but Kevin’s too quick.  Years of darting and dashing through the labyrinthine alleyways of Riya have given him an edge.  He wiggles around her arm and jams the dagger into her side.  The other three dead are now moving faster down the corridor towards them.  These three are definitely scarier than the first woman, almost completely skeletal with scraps of clothing.  He charges at the first one and falls to his knees at the last second, sticking the dagger in as he glides through their legs.  He pops back up and takes off towards the second dead man.  He plows into the dead man and knocks him onto his back, plunging the shadowglass into his chest.  Two down, one to go. 

The last one gets to him before he’s ready and picks him up off the ground with one hand.  His feet are dangling and his kicks are ineffective this far away.  The dead man grabs his hand as Kevin tries to stab him with the dagger and it falls from his hands to the floor.  The dead man’s other hand begins to crush Kevin’s neck.  He’s gasping for air.  A second later, he’s falling to the ground, the air flowing into his lungs with ease.  He gazes up and finds Jessica with the dagger in hand standing over the dead man’s body.  She’s shaking from head to toe and he gets up and takes the dagger from her hand before she winds up stabbing him.  He grabs her hand and pulls her down the corridor where they run into his father and two women with babies in their arms.

“Oh, Kevin, thank the gods!” Sir Connor exclaims as he hugs him.

They hear the dead coming from around the corner and take off running in the opposite direction.  The crypts are a maze of corridors and different levels and they run blindly into the darkness.  They turn a corner and are mobbed by a group of dead.  The lead dead man is completely skeletal, save for the sword in his hand and ring of metal around his neck. Kevin assumes that metal ring once sat upon his head and that he’s one of the last of the Ritten kings, since all the rest must be dust by now. 

He slashes his sword towards Kevin.  In a flash, his face meets the ground. He doesn’t think he’s been hit by the sword, but someone definitely pushed him down.  He looks back up just in time to see the dead Ritten King stab his father in the stomach.  Sir Connor slumps to his knees and doubles over in pain.  Kevin screams for his father, but Sir Connor never turns to look at him.  Instead, he pulls a shadowglass dagger from his cloak and stabs the Ritten King in the foot.  The other dead charge at Sir Connor, pissed for killing their king and Kevin takes on one, while the women with the children pull Sir Connor to the side.  Jessica picks up his father’s blade and takes on the last dead man.  Kevin receives a small cut to his forearm for his trouble, but manages to defeat the dead man and then help Jessica defeat the one she’s fighting. 

He runs to his father.  Sir Connor is bleeding profusely from his wound and the blood soaks his cloak and clothing in a matter of seconds.  He grips Kevin’s hand and he glances up at his father.

“Kevin, I am so proud of you.  You fought bravely tonight,” Sir Connor states as he coughs.

“Father, we need to get you help!”

“There’s no help for me now.  You stay close to Jessica.  When the battle’s over, find your brother.”

“But father-”

“No buts, Kevin.  Find your brother, Lucy or Flynn.  One of them will protect you,” Sir Connor orders, as his breathing becomes more and more erratic.

Kevin hugs his father tightly, as tears roll down his face.

“I love you and your brother.  I wasn’t the best father, but I do love you both.  You’re the best thing I ever did in my life.”

Sir Connor kisses his son’s forehead and then his arm goes limp and the darkness claims him.

__

Amy watches as Flynn sprints toward the castle entrance.  If anyone can take down Emma, he can.  Someone needs to before she kills Lucy.  She’s already tried and failed with the only weapon at her disposal; her dragon, Zephyr. 

She doesn’t fly off fast enough after assisting Flynn, and the dead climb onto the back of her dragon in a swarm.  Zephyr tries to take off, flapping his wings with authority in an attempt to shake loose the dead.  There are too many of them and they’re crawling up the dragon’s back towards her. 

The next thing she knows, she’s being flung in the air and lands with a hard thud on the frozen ground.  Zephyr takes flight, roaring and screeching as the dead fall like rain from the sky.  The second they hit the ground they pop back up again.  She’s now in the same position that Flynn was in a moment ago.  She’s surrounded.  She can see Jiya still burning the dead off in the distance, trying to stem the tide of them into the castle.  She won’t be able to help her.  None of them will. 

She’s trying to scramble to her feet when she feels someone pull her upright.  The second she stands, her ankle screams out in pain and she shifts her weight onto one leg.  She turns her head to find Aevin.

“What-how?”

“I saw the dragons fighting when I was in the courtyard.  I had a bad feeling you might need help, so I came to help you,” Aevin explains.

She pulls both shadowglass daggers from her cloak and prepares to fight.

“We’re gonna need a lot more help to get out of this one.”

Aevin wraps his arm around her waist and helps guide her towards the castle.  He lets go long enough to take down two members of the army of the dead, while Amy deals with the other, bad ankle and all.  They continue to fight together, back to back, as they clear a path towards the castle.  As they get closer, Jiya spots them and blazes a literal path for them with dragonfire.

__

Flynn enters the castle gates and makes his way to the courtyard.  He picks up a shadowspear sword from one of the fallen and sheathes his dagger back into his belt.  He moves stealthily, yet quickly, towards the Godsgarden.  When he makes it to the courtyard, he spies Rufus on his back, still fighting, but in trouble.  He glances over and his heart is pulling him in that direction, but his brain reminds him that he needs to stay on mission.  He needs to protect Lucy, or this entire battle has been for nothing and they will all become slaves to evil incarnate.

He sneaks towards the back of the courtyard and notices Wyatt, Denise and Jorsten, their backs against a wall, the dead surrounding them on all sides.  He feels another tug on his heart strings, but pushes through.  He can see the entrance to the Godsgarden ahead of him, but Emma’s dragon, along with a bunch of the dead army, block the entrance.  Frostbite is visibly wounded from his fight with Maelstrom, so Flynn concentrates his energy on the dead.  He takes a step towards them and cuts down two men with ease.  There’s only one of them and the dragon left to deal with, but he gets a shock when the last dead man turns to face him.  _Noah._

“I thought I already killed you.”

Noah charges at him with his sword raised and Flynn ducks out of the way.  He strikes back, severing Noah’s left arm from his body.  Noah lunges wildly at him, but Flynn anticipates the strike and shoves the shadowglass into his torso.  Now, he only has a dragon to deal with.

Flynn creeps ever closer, hiding behind what he can, as the dragon spews its blue flame indiscriminately.  Suddenly, he hears Anthony’s voice in his head. “Now is the time.” Flynn remembers Jiya’s words and he reaches into his cloak and pulls out the scroll.  He has no idea if this will work, but he has nothing left to lose.  He’s tried to get passed the dragon, but it’s taking forever.  If he doesn’t do something soon, he’s not going to be any use to Lucy. 

He stands up and faces the dragon, as he unfurls the scroll.  Sure enough, the once jumbled words now read as plain as day to him.  Perhaps Anthony was correct, because no other individual in this castle could read this except for him.  It’s written in a language that most nobles don’t even learn anymore.  He’s never been more thankful for his royal upbringing affording him another advantage in life than he is right now.  The scroll is written in Riyasi, the ancient language of the eastern kings. 

He takes a deep breath and prays that his pronunciation isn’t off.

**_“Izoz gar deialdia zugana,_ **

**_Kasu hitzak betiko,_ **

**_Alons, eskalak, itur, hegoak,_ **

**_Suzko haragia heriotza buruak”_ **

In the common tongue it translates loosely to:

_“Frost and flame, I summon thee,_

_To heed my words, eternally,_

_Talons, scales, fangs and wings,_

_Fiery flesh from which death springs”_

The dragon stops flailing about and closes its mouth.  Flynn lowers his arms and the dragon mimics his movements and lays down on the snow-covered ground.  He now has complete control and it takes a minute for that to sink in and register.  A second later, he snaps back into reality, rushes by the dragon and enters the Godsgarden.

__

As she waits in the Godsgarden, Lucy can feel the powers of the elementals surging in her body.  She’s sweating profusely now, even as the snow swirls around her and ice water runs through her veins.  She finds all this sitting and waiting to be frustrating beyond belief.  The powers of the elementals are weakening and sickening her by the second, and she’s stuck here until Emma finally decides to grace her with her presence. 

She saw the dragon battle that took place above her, her breath hitching when Flynn was in trouble.  She witnessed his sword fall from the sky and lodge itself into the snow a few yards from her.  She knows she’s going to die soon, but she _cannot_ watch him die.  The gods cannot be so cruel as to make her endure that torture as well. 

She feels a jolt of electricity flow through her body suddenly.  When she glances up, she spots Emma strolling into the Godsgarden.  Snow, the only wolf still alive, growls and snarls as Emma gets closer and closer.  He’s missing a part of his right ear, but is otherwise unscathed and undeterred in his protection of Lucy. 

Lucy uses all of her might to stand.  She pats Snow on his head and orders him to stay at the tree.  Snow whines and whimpers, clearly not wanting to part from Lucy’s side, but stays at the tree as ordered. 

She stands in the middle of the Godsgarden, ready and willing for her final battle.  She thinks of Flynn and Amy and everyone else she cares about, the people she’s sacrificing herself for.  She _has_ to do this for them.  She just has to.

Emma stops a few feet in front of her.  The two of them stare the other down for a moment, before Lucy can feel herself getting pushed out of the way by the salamander.  Emma stretches out her arms and blasts a stream of blue ice in Lucy’s direction.  Lucy instinctively puts her hands up and blasts back a stream of scarlet flame.  The ice and fire clash and dance in the air, snuffing and consuming the other.  Her hands are red, inflamed and burning, as the flame continues to flow from her fingers.  Searing pain rushes through her, yet she can only scream out internally.  Fire requires fuel in order to maintain its flame, and Lucy feels as if her soul has become the source of its propellant. With no discernable winner, a stalemate ensues, causing both women to attempt to outlast the other and break through the cycle of futility.

Suddenly, Lucy picks up her right foot, then stomps it back down with all her might.  The ground shakes in a thunderous roar and Emma loses her balance momentarily.  Lucy takes advantage of Emma’s momentary lapse in coordination and moves a step closer. 

The blasts of fire and ice still crack and sparkle in the sky, as Lucy stomps her foot again.  This time Emma is prepared for the shifting ground, but Lucy grinds her foot into the snow even harder, causing the ground to continuously rumble and shake.  At the same time, she closes her eyes and the winds pick up.  They swirl and churn around her for a moment and then surge at Emma like a tidal wave.  Emma’s hair blows into her face and Lucy uses this second distraction to get even closer.  The tide is turning in her favor, yet Lucy still has no idea how she’s going to kill Emma.  Dragonfire didn’t work.  _How do you kill what is already dead?_  

It’s at this exact moment that she spies Flynn at the entrance to the Godsgarden, and a flash of brilliance floods her mind.  She can barely think over the pandemonium of the squabbling elementals, but she has an idea she thinks might work.  She just has to get these beings to listen to the paltry human for once.  _I know how to stop her._   The elementals continue arguing about what to do, ignoring Lucy entirely.  After her third attempt to get their attention, she decides to take a more direct route.  _Shut the hell up!  I know how to stop her!_   The elementals stop yammering.  They listen to Lucy’s suggestion and all agree it’s worth a shot.  They review each one of their parts in this and then spring their plan into action. 

Lucy lets up on the stream of fire and allows her right hand to rest at her side.  Emma quirks an eyebrow at her, as Lucy starts to get beaten back slowly.  She understands that she will be vulnerable to Emma for a heartbeat, but there literally is no other way.  She closes her eyes again and stretches out her fingers towards the ground with her right hand.  The ground shakes and rumbles more so than usual, but it’s not effecting Emma in the slightest.

Emma moves even closer and Lucy stumbles to her knees. Emma takes another step and is now looming over her with a sickening smirk on her face. Lucy’s left hand is up over her head, trying with all her might to beat back Emma, but she’s losing.

Emma removes her ice spear from the sheath on her back, as the predator eyes her wounded prey.  _It’s now or never._ Lucy shifts her weight so that her right hand is almost behind her back.  She shoots a stream of water from her fingertips towards the ice on the ground.  The mound of ice begins to melt and the remnants of Flynn’s dragonsteel sword stick out like a shining beacon.  A second later, she jerks her hand upwards and the hilt of the sword flies up to her hand. 

She needs to gather her strength for the final push.  She can feel Emma beginning to overpower her, her left hand slowly turning blue.  It’s frozen and numb at first, then the pain of necrotic tissue pulses through her as if she’s being stabbed by a thousand shards of glass all at once.  _Give me one last push salamander and then let me end this._  

A second later, her left hand bursts into flames and Lucy cries out in utter agony.  She feels as if she’s rushing to the surface in search of breath after being thirty thousand leagues under the sea.  She breaks through the surface and she’s back in charge of her own body.  She lets out a primal scream and wedges the broken blade in her right hand straight into Emma’s heart.  Emma peers down at the blade with a puzzled expression and Lucy instantly feels the gravity of failure.  As Emma glances back to Lucy, she suddenly explodes into a thousand crystalline pieces.  The army of the dead fall in waves, as their puppeteer’s own strings have been cut.  Lucy falls forward onto her bloody hands and tries to catch her breath.

The next thing she knows, Flynn is at her side and she’s in his arms.  She’s so weak that she can’t even hold her head up. 

“It’s over.  It’s done,” she mutters.

She has no idea what that means for her future, or if she still gets to have one, but she’s glad that it’s over. The world is safe once again.

 


	36. The Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy and the elementals part ways.

He pulls Lucy closer to his chest, cradling her head in the crook of his neck.  She is so weak, she cannot hold up her own weight.  Her hands are burnt and blistered, her skin as white as the snow he’s kneeling in.  He doesn’t know what to do for her except hold her close and kiss her forehead.  Jiya lands her dragon and rushes toward them.  Wyatt, Rufus and Denise approach from the courtyard gate, Amy and Aevin trailing behind them.  Amy runs as soon as she sees him holding Lucy and yells her sister’s name until she makes it to them. 

“It’s done,” is all Lucy can seem to utter, her eyes rolling back into her head, as if the fever is effecting her ability to form any other words.

“What happened to her hands?” Amy gasps.

The anger is visible across Amy’s face and he feels the rage welling within him as well. 

“You promised you would leave Lucy’s body once this was done. Time to go,” Jiya declares, as she stares at Lucy.

He knows she’s addressing the elementals, and to be honest, he’s one-hundred percent in agreement with her on this one.  The sooner they leave, the sooner he can try to heal Lucy.  A moment later, Lucy’s lids fly open, dewy, green eyes staring back at Jiya.

“We did promise.  We will honor our promise.  We require certain…”

“I don’t give a damn what you require!  Get the hell out of Lucy!” Flynn yells.

He’s trying not to lose his cool like this, but his patience is running on thin ice. 

“We cannot leave if we are not connected to our element,” the undine explains.

Jiya seems to understand whatever she’s talking about, because she tells him to take Lucy’s body over to the pond. He cradles her in his arms and trudges through the snow towards the birch tree and the pond. 

“You’ve got three out of four right here.  Isn’t it enough?” Jiya pleads.

“No. We need all four.  We will start with fire,” the undine commands.

“In the name of the gods!  Hasn’t she suffered enough?” Flynn asks, as tears well in his eyes.

“She has. And, in order for her suffering to cease, this _must_ be done,” the undine emphasizes.

No one appears happy about this, but they all want to help Lucy too.  Jiya picks up a stick lying next to the birch.  She strolls over to her dragon and gives the command for fire.  Blaze lights the stick and Jiya hurries back over to Lucy.

“Just touch one finger to the flame for a second and the salamander will leave her body,” the undine explains.

He’s horrified at this instruction, her hands already in an awful state of agony.  He moves toward her one hand, but pulls back.  He can’t do this.  The second anyone touches her, she’s going to scream out in pain.  He _cannot_ hurt her.  He glances over at Amy and then at Jiya with pleading eyes.  Amy looks at Jiya the same way he just did.  Jiya quickly grabs Lucy’s finger and holds it into the flame.  Lucy howls in torment and he holds her as tightly as he can while she writhes in pain.  Her eyes flash ruby red for a second and then back to the cool green of the undine.  Their eyes all wander over to the flame and Jiya nods her head that the salamander is contained within it. 

“What do we do with him now?” Jiya questions.

Lucy’s eyes flash from green to blue. “Leave that to me,” the sylph replies.

A sudden gust of wind hits them and a dozen embers float away into the breeze, carrying the salamander with it. 

“She needs to touch the ground next.”

Jiya guides Lucy’s hand and gently touches the ground.  Lucy’s eyes flash yellow for a moment and then the go back to green.

“The gnome is gone, happily back underground,” the undine states.

Two down, two more to go.  Lucy’s breathing is becoming more unsteady and he has never been more gripped with fear than at this very moment.  _Please let the gods spare Lucy.  Please._  

“Place her hand in the water.”

Jiya gingerly lowers Lucy’s hand into the pond.  Lucy hisses and winces, but does not cry out.  Her eyes flash green, then settle back into the icy blue. The pond ripples and flutters and then a tall, humanoid shape emerges from the water. 

“My true form,” the undine utters to them.

Everyone is staring at the elemental.  She appears to them in the shape of a human, but she’s completely see-through, like a glacial spring, except for her moss-colored eyes.  No one is quite certain why she’s sticking around, but they don’t question it.  The focus is on Lucy right now, as it should be. 

“If any of you wish to say goodbye to Lucy, I will wait until you do so before I depart,” the sylph states matter-of-factly.

“Why would I say goodbye to my sister?” Amy questions, as she raises her eyebrow.

Everyone else remains quiet, including himself.  He knows what it means, but he refuses to accept that this is Lucy’s fate.

“No. No, no, no!” Amy shrieks.

He’s suddenly aware of footsteps crunching in the snow, but he can’t look up.  All he can do is hold Lucy, kiss her forehead and stroke her hair.  He finally gathers up the courage to peek out of his periphery and sees Jessica holding Kevin’s hand as they walk towards the group.  He wants to call out to take him back into the castle, terrified that Kevin will see Lucy like this.  A moment later, he hears the boy running, his boots crunching the ice as he gets closer and closer.  He hears Rufus call out to his brother, but Kevin ignores him and comes running frantically over to where he and Amy are cradling Lucy. 

“What happened to Lucy?” Kevin asks.

Rufus grabs ahold of him and Kevin starts kicking him.

“Ow!” Rufus yells.

Lucy forces her eyes to open and turns her head to Amy.

“Amy.”

“Lucy!  Don’t talk. Save your strength,” Amy encourages.

“Amy, it’s over. This is the price that had to be paid,” Lucy mutters.

“What price?” he asks.

He didn’t realize he had said that out loud at first, but now that he has… 

Lucy turns her head back to gaze up at him.

“We both knew it would end this way,” she whispers.

“No,” he replies, as he shakes his head.  “This is not your end.  This is not our end either.”

“Lucy can’t die!  She’s a hero,” Kevin yells.  “Heroes don’t die.”

“I love you both,” Lucy declares, as she twists her head back and forth between the two of them.  “I love you all.”

Her eyes close and she cries out in pain again.  She tries to cling to him, but she screams even louder when her burnt hands touch the fabric of his cloak.

“It’s time.  Hold her hand into the air and I will be gone,” the sylph announces.

He and Amy remain still, like statutes of marble carved long ago.  Jiya reaches over to grab Lucy’s hand and he blocks her.

“No!”

“Your Grace, end her suffering.  If you love her, let her go,” Jiya pleads.

The tears stream down his face uncontrollably now, his chest as tight as a balloon ready to pop.  He’s sick to his soul.  _How is he supposed to live without her?  He cannot live without her._

Jiya lifts Lucy’s hands into the air and her eyes flash blue and then close.  When they open again, her eyes are still blue. 

“What’s the hold up?” he barks.

His rage is boiling to a head, mad at the elementals, mad at the gods, mad at the world.

“Something is pulling me back,” the sylph explains.

“Not something… _someone_ ,” the undine advises.

“Impossible!  She is not strong enough to hold me back!” the sylph states indignantly.

He has no clue what the hell is going on, but he wants this thing out of Lucy’s body _now._ Not that he wants to lose her, but seeing her in such hellacious torment is ripping him apart. 

“It is not Lucy that holds you back.  It is her child,” the undine clarifies.

“Her _what?_ ” the group says in unison.

“She is with child.”

Everyone shoots an accusatory glance his way, yet he can’t meet their eyes.  It’s not that he’s ashamed of the fact everyone knows they had sex, or even the affront to Lucy’s reputation (he can always just kill anyone who says anything ill of her), but it’s the enormity of this news that has him shaking to his very core.  _She’s pregnant.  Lucy is pregnant with his child._   It all starts to make sense to him now, having gone through a pregnancy once before with Lorena.  Grant it, this situation was highly exacerbated by the drain the elementals put on Lucy’s body, but it explains the nausea and weakness she was experiencing.  History is repeating itself and he is losing his grip on reality.  _Could the gods really be so cruel and take another woman and child from him?_  

“You have to save them!” he cries.

“Impossible.  The human body is not meant to house the power of one elemental, let alone four.  She cannot survive this.  Regrettable as it is, neither will your child,” the sylph reveals.

“There is one possibility,” the undine interjects.

“Name it.  I’ll do anything,” he declares.

“No. I refuse,” the sylph exclaims.

“If you want to be free like the rest of us, you’ll do it,” the undine replies.

“It’s… _unnatural_ ,” the sylph whispers.

“Possibly.  That is for time to tell.  The others and I have already given a part of ourselves to the child.  It is an insignificant snippet of power to us.  None of us will miss it,” the undine argues.

“Even if I do, there’s no guarantee…”

“Yes, I know.  I will explain it to them, though I gather I already know what they will choose.”

“What?  Explain what to us?” he pleads.

“There is a chance, a good chance mind you, to save your baby.”

“How?”

“The sylph will leave a part of her essence within Lucy’s body when she departs, as the rest of us have already done.  Our powers will be absorbed by your child.  Lucy will live long enough to give birth.  What happens after that is up to the gods.  She could heal the damage by the help of her child and these powers, she could die on her birthing bed like countless other women do, or she could die outright if the damage is too extensive,” the undine answers.

Amy glares at him and he nods back at her, their silent assent understood.

“If there’s a chance, we’re going to take it,” he announces staunchly.

“What will your powers do to the baby?” Amy questions.

“It will not harm the child.  The child will be in tune with the spiritual world and could even receive the gift of foresight.  No one truly knows, it’s never happened before,” the undine replies.

“Do it!” he orders.

“So be it,” the sylph states with a sigh.

Lucy’s eyes flash blue and then go back to brown, as Jiya holds her hand into the air.  The undine advises them that the sylph has indeed left Lucy’s body.  She bids them farewell and her form changes from humanoid to a column of water.  The water column collapses back into the pond and the undine is gone.

He holds Lucy close and shuts his eyes as their foreheads rest together.  He somehow finds the strength to stand, still cradling her in his arms.  She needs rest and her burns need to be tended to.  He’s going to make sure she has everything she needs to help heal her, and he’s not leaving her side until he knows she’ll be okay.  He doesn’t look back at the horde of onlookers, as he and Amy carry Lucy back towards the castle.

Rufus watches as the King and Amy carry Lucy back towards the castle.  This entire night has rattled him to his core.  He’s bruised and bloodied, beaten and sore, but he doesn’t care.  He’s alive and breathing and after what he’s witnessed recently, that’s the only thing that matters.  Jiya and Kevin are safe, as are Lucy and the King, and he’s never been more grateful.  He tries to reassure Kevin that Lucy’s going to be okay, even though he’s not sure about that himself.  Jiya runs to him, but doesn’t even allow him to get a word out before her lips are on his.  She takes his face in her hands and begins to inspect him.

“You’re alive!” she shrieks, as she kisses him again.

“Miraculously, yes,” he laughs.

They kiss a couple more times and then she pulls back.  She looks towards the castle and then back at him.  He knows Jiya well enough by now, so he doesn’t want to keep her any longer.  They’ll be plenty of time later for them to be together. 

“Go,” he tells her.

She nods her head and hurries off to treat the wounded.  Rufus looks around and notices his brother is just sitting by the tree, staring off into space.  Everyone else is having their reunions.  Denise follows Jiya to the castle and Wyatt and Jessica are embracing each other.  It hits him then that his father is among those that are missing.  He moves over to Kevin and crouches down so he’s in his line of sight.

“Where’s father?”

“Dead,” Kevin answers bluntly.

He’s about to tell him this isn’t the time for jokes, but when he gazes into his brother’s eyes, he knows that Kevin isn’t lying.  He gathers his brother in his arms, as the tears silently stream down his face.  He has no idea what words of comfort to offer, no idea what to do in this situation.  When their mother died, Kevin was a toddler and really didn’t understand what happened.  Now, he’s a ten year old boy with the wisdom of a seventeen year old.  He’s had to grow up fast and mostly on his own.  He’s tried to be a good, big brother, but sometimes the age difference was too great to overcome.  He needs to find out more information, but he’s afraid to ask.  Kevin is clearly in shock.

“How-how did it happen?” Rufus asks hesitantly.  “You were supposed to be safe down there.”

“You stuck all the people who couldn’t fight down where there are literally hundreds of dead people!  Didn’t anyone think about that beforehand?” Kevin yells.

His little brother has a point.  _Why the hell didn’t he think of that?_  

“I’m sorry, I don’t-”

“I got a bunch of them, but there were too many.  He saved Jessica and me.  He jumped out in front of us and they-they killed him,” Kevin mutters, as he stares at the ground.

“Oh, Kevin.”

Rufus pulls him in closer and squeezes him tight.  They cling to each other, both of them crying now.  Not knowing what else to do, he picks him up and carries him towards the castle.  It’s freezing outside and the grounds are still littered with the bodies of the dead.  He presses Kevin’s head into the crook of his neck, trying to shield his eyes from the carnage.

As he enters the courtyard, he spots Jiya tending to a _very_ injured Jorsten.  Parts of the castle are still aflame, one of the towers has collapsed completely and the remaining survivors move about the grounds in one of two ways; either they’re going through the motions of beginning to clean up and remove the dead, or they’re utterly spent sitting on the ground.  Some of them cry with sorrow, some with relief that they managed to survive.  Rufus quickly ducks into the castle and takes Kevin back up to his room.  As they reach the room, Rufus gently places Kevin into his bed and turns to leave.  He isn’t planning on leaving Kevin alone for long, just long enough to tell a servant or soldier to secure his father’s body.  Kevin begins to freak out and Rufus shuts the door and sits down on the edge of the bed.  His father’s body can wait.  Right now, he needs to take care of his little brother.

Amy watches as the King gently lays Lucy onto the bed.  She scrambles to pull the furs up around her sister’s shivering body, careful not to brush against Lucy’s burnt hands.  She feels just as helpless as the King.  They both just stare down at Lucy, not knowing what to do.  Amy has never seen her sister so pale before and the panic welling within her is becoming overwhelming.  The King is screaming at the top of his lungs for Jiya.  A few moments later, Denise appears with Jiya’s healer bag in hand. 

“Where’s Jiya?” Flynn asks.

“She’s tending to Jorsten. He’s severely wounded,” Denise answers, as she opens up the bag and begins to remove some of the herbs and tinctures.

“She needs to be _here_!” he yells.

Lucy moans and stirs when he does so, and he immediately lowers his voice in shame.

“She informed me what to do, Your Grace.  Lucy’s in good hands.  I promise you,” Denise responds.

She continues to pull out ingredients from the medical bag, mumbling to herself as she does.

“Amy, I will need your assistance.  We need honey, lots of it.  I also need aloe vera and bran.  Do you think you can get some for me?” Denise questions.

Flynn literally grabs a servant by the collar as he’s passing by in the corridor and barks at him to go get honey and bran from the kitchen. The servant is terrified and runs off quickly, as soon as the King lets go. 

“We did have aloe growing in the greenhouse, but I-I don’t know the extent of the damage to it from the battle,” Amy answers with wide eyes.

Flynn is about to terrorize yet another servant, when he suddenly looks down towards his feet and backs up into the room.  Amy raises her eyebrow in confusion, having never seen the King cower in fear before.  She turns her gaze downward and thinks she might be hallucinating.  The white wolf saunters into the chamber, a huge chuck of aloe vera hanging out of its mouth.  He pads his way towards Denise and drops the plant at her feet, before jumping onto the bottom of the bed and retaking his position as guardian over Lucy. 

The entire room is silent, save for the sounds of their own breath.  Denise bends down and picks up the plant and continues to mix the items in the mortar.

“Are you giving her something for the pain?” Flynn asks shyly.

“Yes, it’s what I’m mixing now while we wait for the honey and bran,” Denise answers.

“I hope Jiya has something stronger than last time,” the King mutters.

“I’m mixing up a combination of thyme, opium and belladonna.  It’ll be strong enough.”

Denise grinds the pestle into the mortar, crushing the herbs into a fine powder.

“Will it hurt the baby?” he asks, as tears well up in his eyes.

“There’s always a chance, Your Grace, but Lucy needs something,” Denise answers.  “Amy, dear, can you get your sister some tea please?”

Flynn looks ready to move out into the corridor and intimidate another member of the household staff, when Amy puts a hand to his forearm.

“I’ve got it.  Just-just take care of my sister, alright?”

He nods his head back at her and she exits the chamber.  It doesn’t take her long to find someone to order the tea from, and she makes her way back to the chamber a few moments later.  When she gets to the door, she finds Flynn on his knees at Lucy’s bedside, stroking her hair.

The servants arrive with the honey, bran and tea a second later.  Denise adds the powder to the tea and instructs Amy to get Lucy to drink as much of it as she can.  This task proves to be more difficult than Amy originally thought, as Lucy is so weak she can barely hold her neck up.  Flynn cradles her neck and back, sitting her semi-upright. Amy metes out small sips of the tea until half the cup is gone.

“That’ll have to do,” Denise informs them.

Flynn guides her back to the bed and Lucy flashes awake momentarily.  She gazes up at him and Amy, her eyes blinking wildly, trying to focus on what she’s seeing.  A second later, her eyes close again and she’s back down for the count.  Amy lets Flynn tend to her, while she assists Denise in preparing whatever it is they’re preparing.  She watches as Denise puts the bran into the mortar and then adds the honey.

“Amy, can you squeeze the aloe out of the plant and add it to the mortar?” Denise asks, as she searches through the various other items in Jiya’s healer bag.

Amy adds the aloe to the mortar and steps back.

“What else can I do?” she asks trying to be helpful.

“Grab that vial of Calendula oil for me, would you?”

Amy grabs the vial, hands it to Denise and watches as she adds it to the mortar.

“I also need that vial of tannic acid and the bottle of myrrh,” Denise informs her.

Amy grabs the items and the last of the ingredients are poured into the mortar.  Denise pounds the ingredients into a crude sticky paste.  Once the paste is ready, Denise slathers it onto Lucy’s hands, then covers them in a flimsy gauze-like cloth. 

“That’s all we can do for her right now.  Jiya will be in to check on her in a little bit.  I’ll go and help out with the cleanup, if that’s alright?” Denise asks hesitantly.

Flynn nods his head, but does not turn away from Lucy.  He just remains kneeling next to the bed, stroking her cheek with his hand. 

“Thank you,” he finally manages to mumble.

Denise bows out gracefully, and they are once again alone with Lucy.  She knows the next subject she’s about to broach is delicate, but she feels they should discuss this before Lucy wakes up.

“Your Grace…we should discuss what we’re going to tell her.  Well, I guess who is going to tell her.”

“I will.  Unless, you think I shouldn’t?” he asks, as he turns to look at her.

She can see the unshed tears in his eyes, the panic creeping up within him.

“I think you should.  This is something the two of you need to discuss.  I’m sure my sister will confide in me, but ultimately this discussion needs to be between the two of you,” Amy responds.

She places her hand on his shoulder and gives him a light squeeze.

“I know you love her.  Not more than I do, but…”

He lifts his head to meet her eyes and smirks.  She smirks back at him and then exits the room.

Lucy stirs before morning, the black of night still holding its sway.  She forces her eyes open and finds she is somehow back in her bedchamber at Rittenfell.  _This isn’t right.  She shouldn’t be here._   _How is she here?_   The room is faintly lit by a few candles that have obviously been burning throughout the night, given how small they are now.  She senses movement at her feet and glances down to see Snow lift his head up.  She goes to lift her hand to motion for him to lay back down, but then notices the heavy bandage.  She winces in pain and lets out a little moan when she moves it.  Snow gets up and moves closer to her.  She can’t exactly pet him, but she can allow him to lick her face with fervor. 

She also senses a presence to her left and gazes over to find the King asleep, his head on the bed and the rest of his body smooshed into a chair.  She has no idea how long she’s been here.  The last thing she remembers is being on the ground in his arms with the relief that she had ended the reign of the Mad Ice Queen. 

She tries to shift herself up in the bed, but finds she can’t do it without using her hands.  She doesn’t want to wake him.  His face is mired in exhaustion, in worry, in consternation.  She presses her hands to the bed and boosts herself up, trying to ignore the searing pain shooting through her body.  She hisses and bites her lip. 

“Lucy!”

He springs up from the chair and helps her get a little bit more comfortable, propping pillows behind her back.

“Garcia, how-what?”

He caresses her cheek with his hand and shushes her.

“Nothing to worry about now, my love,” he states, as he kisses her lips softly.

“But-”

“No buts. You’re here, where you should be.  That’s all that matters.”

She’s really confused, but decides not to push right now.  She can always find out everything from Amy.  He sits down on the edge of the bed, careful not to bang into her bandaged hand. 

“How do you feel, Lucy?”

“Not good,” she answers.

She doesn’t know how else to respond to that question.  She feels like she’s been beaten to within an inch of her life from the inside out. 

“What is it?  What’s wrong?” he asks in a panic.

“What isn’t?” she chuckles and then winces in pain.

“You’ve been through a lot, Lucy.  I’m not going to lie, you’re not out of the woods yet.”

“Why am I here?  It wasn’t supposed to be possible,” she questions.

“Lucy,” he states.

He almost instinctively reaches for her hand, then sees the bandage and pulls back.

“Why?” she asks again.

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

He can’t look at her for some reason and she’s starting to freak out internally.  She wants to reach out, but again her wounds are preventing her. 

“Look at me,” she whispers.

He slowly brings his gaze to hers.

“Please, tell me,” she begs.

“Lucy, you’re-you’re pregnant,” he blurts out and then looks down again.

The second the words leave his mouth, something inside of her instantly knows he’s telling the truth.  She peers down at her belly and smiles.

“You’re sure?” she asks.

“Positive.  The elementals confirmed it.  It’s the reason that you’re still here.  The baby is keeping you alive somehow,” he explains.

_The elementals.  What effect could they have had on her baby?_

“Is-is the baby okay?” she asks with an expression of panic on her face.

“As far as I know, yes.  Although, the elementals did say the baby absorbed some of their powers.  No one knows what will happen Lucy.  They said you could still die after you give birth,” he blurts out, as the tears fall from his eyes. 

He looks like a lost puppy dog left alone in the middle of the wilderness.  It hurts her to watch him worry about her and now he also has a child to fret about.  She’s not upset that she’s pregnant, (since she’s always wanted to have children), and she’s glad that Garcia is the child’s father.  She knows they talked about marriage before, but she’s not sure if he still feels the same way. 

“As long as the baby is okay, I don’t care what happens to me,” she declares.

“ _I_ care. I can’t lose you, Lucy.”

“You won’t if I can help it.”

“Are you-are you upset that I got you pregnant?  We never discussed children and I didn’t impregnate you on purpose,” he states, as he lowers his head in shame.

“Garcia.  Garcia, look at me,” Lucy pleads.

He slowly raises his gaze to meet hers.

“I am not upset that we’re having a baby.  I’ve always wanted to have children.  To be having the man I love’s child is nothing to be ashamed about or upset over.  This baby was made in love.”

“Will-will you…”

“Will I what?” she asks.

“Will you still marry me, Lucy?”

She smiles back at him, happy that he still seems to love her.  It’s the life she’s wanted for a while now and she has a second chance to have it.  She’s going to make sure she doesn’t waste it.

“Yes, of course I will.”

He kisses her softly and she can feel the tension in his body start to dissipate as their kiss deepens.  She would love to continue this display of affection, but she’s exhausted.  She pulls back and explains that she needs to lie back down.  He scrambles to help her and make sure she’s comfortable.  The last thing she remembers before she dozes off is a kiss to her forehead. She wants this life and she’s going to do anything she can to make it a reality.  She just needs to regain some strength first, because this is a fight she is determined to win.

 

 


	37. The North Remembers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dead are honored and buried. The survivors celebrate their victory.

It takes an entire day to construct the sheer numbers of pyres necessary to burn the dead, given the ground in the North is too hard by this time of year to even consider burial.  It dawns on him that the Northerners burn their dead more out of necessity than tradition or ancient superstition.  It even makes sense that the Ritten Kings and Lords of Rittenfell would bury their dead in the crypts, having only to burrow into the ground during the castle’s initial construction. 

He’s been in his fair share of battles over the years, but he’s never seen this many dead people in one place.  A quarter of the continent’s population has been lost, the capital city of King’s Keep is in ruins and Rittenfell has certainly seen better days.  He has a lot of responsibilities to attend to and choices to make, yet his mind drifts to Sir Connor and Karl, two of his most trusted allies, now gone.  If it wasn’t for Sir Connor, he wouldn’t be standing here right now.  Karl was his brother-in-arms, his fellow mercenary.  There is no one he would trust more to watch his back in battle than Karl.  Now, all that remains from the party that left Riya with him is Rufus and Kevin.  Rufus is a grown man and can take care of himself.  He won’t hold him to his father’s oath.  If Rufus wants to return to the East, he can.  His heart breaks for little Kevin.  The poor boy has already lost his mother when he was too young to even remember and now he’s lost his father as well.  He knows Rufus will feel obliged to take care of him.  He doesn’t want to separate them if that’s what they both want, but he also can offer to take care of Kevin.  Rufus is still a young man and he should be free to explore what the world has to offer.  Plus, Kevin already thinks of Lucy as a mother figure.  Separating Kevin from Lucy might be the worst thing they can do right now.

Speaking of Lucy, she is adamant that she attend the funerals.  The woman care barely stand for very long, but she is not taking no for an answer.  If he tries to exclude her, she might very well jump on his back or have someone else bring her.  When Lucy makes up her mind about something, she can be as stubborn as a mule.  If it was up to him, she’d be carried everywhere and served like the queen she is.  He hopes and prays that Lucy takes it easy, both for her own sake, as well as the baby’s.  He needs her to get better, get stronger, because he cannot lose her again. 

He decides to winter at Rittenfell with the capital in ruins.  He also feels it is important that Lucy give birth here, where she is comfortable and where the magic of the old gods is the most potent.  He has so much to consider, so many responsibilities and issues that beg his attention, but all he thinks about is Lucy and their child.  He will marry her within a fortnight.  If he tries to do it any sooner, it will be seen in poor taste.  He needs to allow the people sufficient time to mourn their dead.  It will also serve as a testament of hope for his people. Hope for a new life and a new world, forged from the ashes of the old. 

He also has not seen Maelstrom since the battle, yet he senses the dragon is still in the vicinity.  In fact, the only dragon _anyone_ has seen since the battle has been Jiya’s dragon, Blaze.  He hopes that Maelstrom is recovering from his wounds and that he’ll eventually see him again.  As crazy as it sounds, he’s grown fond of the beast and it is definitely a show of his power that most people won’t soon forget.  At the least, it’s also a useful deterrent to any eastern power that has notions of usurping his kingdom while he’s in recovery mode or seeking revenge against him for not protecting Lady Jeniah. 

He knows that today will be difficult for many people and he worries about the stress it will put on Lucy and the baby.  He knows he’s driving her nuts with his constant hovering, but he loves her so much and doesn’t want to take any chances.  He’ll probably continue to drive her nuts until the baby is born and Lucy is okay.  Any other outcome is unacceptable to him.

He makes his way down the corridor and knocks on Lucy’s chamber door.  The door opens a moment later and he finds Amy standing in the threshold.  She pushes the door open wider and he enters the chamber to find Lucy sitting on the edge of the bed.  She’s dressed in long, black pants, with a black dress with a herringbone pattern over top of it.  He’s so used to seeing her in her sleeveless silk gowns that it takes his mind a moment to adjust.  Amy is clad in almost identical clothing as her sister, except for the fur-cuffed sleeves.  Both of them are wrapped in their black cloaks, the collars trimmed with a grayish-white fur.  Lucy looks like a proper Northerner and it’s the first time he’s seen her like this. She looks fearsome, yet regal.  As much as he likes her in those skimpier silk dresses, this look is stirring his blood in ways he didn’t know existed. 

He extends his arm for Lucy to take.  Amy helps her up and the three of them exit the chamber and make their way through the castle to the courtyard.  Once they enter the courtyard, they find Jiya, Denise, Aevin, Rufus, Kevin, Wyatt and Jessica waiting for them.  Jorsten is still in a fight against the infection he’s suffering from and cannot leave his bedside.  The processional proceeds out the front gate of the castle and stops at the first line of pyres.  He leaves Jiya to take his place holding Lucy up and turns to address the people who have gathered.  They line the moor, as well as the battlements of the castle.  As king, he’s expected to give some type of inspiring message or impassioned speech, but that’s not really his forte.  Lucy is much better at those types of things than he is.  He’s tried all morning to put a string of coherent thoughts in his head, but keeps coming up empty.  Everyone is looking at him expectantly right now and he’s starting to panic somewhat.  He glances over at Lucy, meeting her eyes.  She gives a slight smile and nods.

“We gather here today to honor and mourn the fallen, the brave men and women who gave the ultimate sacrifice.  They came from the West, the South and the East, but mostly the North.  They were the shield that guarded the realm of the living.  It is not only our sacred duty, but our _obligation_ , to remember their names and deeds for centuries to come.  While I have been here, I have often been told that ‘the North remembers.’  I submit to you lords and ladies that the Kingdom of Ritten will remember…always.”

He has no idea if his words are good enough or if they have been well-received until he gazes over at Lucy again.  Her smile is bright and wide, her eyes sparkling as if they were sprinkled with stardust.  He cannot fathom how he could possibly love her any more than he already does, yet finds himself falling harder and harder every second of every day. 

Aevin hands him a lit torch and he passes it over to Rufus.  Rufus moves the torch to his right hand and takes Kevin’s hand with his left.  He watches as they inch closer to the pyre, Sir Connor’s body laid out upon it. Kevin weeps openly over his father’s body.  Rufus pulls him back a moment later and lights the pyre.

Aevin hands Flynn another torch and he walks over to the next pyre where Karl is waiting.  He pulls a decorative pin out of his pocket emblazoned with his house sigil and lays it on Karl’s chest.  He might not have been a blood relative, but he was family to him.  He lights the pyre and turns to retake his place next to Lucy. 

The stench of that many bodies burning is not helpful for someone already suffering from morning sickness.  Lucy can feel the nausea rising in her chest, her legs growing weaker by the minute.  She grips Flynn’s forearm tightly, signaling she needs to leave.  She expects him and Amy to help her back to her chamber again, but instead, he gathers her up into his arms and carries her back inside the castle gate.  She feels totally safe and at ease in his arms.  His love surrounds and protects her always.  She loves him more than anything, which still seems a little crazy sometimes. 

He carriers her back to her chamber and gently lays her back onto the bed.  He’s about to cover her with the furs when she grabs his hand.

“Garcia, will you stay with me for a while?”

A smile is the only response she receives before he climbs into the bed and wraps his arms around her. 

“Of course, my love,” he states, as he kisses her lips softly.

He holds her close, both of them silently basking in the company of the other. She doesn’t remember when she fell asleep, but estimates that it must not have been long after he crawled into bed with her.

She wakes a little while later, fully expecting to be alone in her bed.  She knows he has a plethora of responsibilities to attend to as king and doesn’t assume he can spend all his time with her.  Yet to her pleasant surprise, her king is still by her side, his hand caressing her arm. 

“Did you sleep well, my love?”

“Yes. I feel much better now,” Lucy answers, as she turns her head to look him straight on.

“Do you feel up to attending the feast tonight?”

“Maybe.  I feel alright right now, but that doesn’t mean I’ll feel well later on.”

He lowers his eyes and stares down at the furs, as he absentmindedly plays with the hem of her dress.

“Lucy, I-I hate that you don’t feel well.  I hate that I can’t take all the pain away. You’ve been through so much already, and now I’ve gone and endangered your life again by being careless,” he states still staring at the furs.

“Garcia,” she whispers, “You did not endanger my life.  If none of this had ever happened, we would already be married, no?”

He peers up and glances at her through bashful lashes.

“I hope so.  If it was up to me, _absolutely_ ,” he exclaims.

“Then I would probably already be in this predicament by now, especially knowing the fact that I can’t keep my hands off of you,” Lucy replies playfully with a smile.

She reaches out to grab him and then remembers her bandages.  She frowns.  Now, it’s her turn to look down at the furs.

“They won’t be there for forever, my love,” he espouses, as he kisses her wrist just above the bandage.

“You are so in for it the minute these things come off,” she smirks back.

“I am _thoroughly_ looking forward to it!” he laughs.

He leaves a little while later and Lucy rests for the remainder of the afternoon.  Her morning sickness seems to have subsided, so she informs her maid she will be attending the feast tonight after all.

The servants draw her a bath and Lucy peers down at the scar in the middle of her chest.  It’s healed even more than before, but it’s the ever present reminder that she shouldn’t still be breathing.  _What will all of this do to her baby?  Will people fear her child like they did with her if it has some sort of powers?  If so, will she have to take her child and live in exile?_   A thousand thoughts twirl through her mind. She almost decides to skip tonight’s festivities and hide in her chamber.  It’s not like anyone besides a few select people would miss her if she did. 

The door opens and her maids pour back through with her dress for the evening.  She forces herself out of the warmth of the water and begins the tedious process of dressing.  Her dress is made of a thicker, white linen with wide-cut kimono sleeves.  The sleeves have a dragon-like scale pattern embroidered into them and the skirt of the dress is embroidered with green leaves.  The last piece of her ensemble is a black cape trimmed with white fur around the collar.

She dismisses her maids and sits back down on the edge of her bed.  She needs a few minutes in order to regather her strength, so she sits and brushes Snow’s white fur.  The wolf happily obliges and a few minutes later, Lucy feels they are both as presentable as they are going to get.  They amble down the corridor towards the great hall. 

Once Lucy reaches the hall, she stops and takes a deep breath. She enters through the side chamber door, trying to not draw attention to herself (which is virtually impossible when you’re constantly in the company of a wolf).  As she nears the head table, the occupants begin to stand. 

Even after all her time in the capital, it still makes Lucy uncomfortable.  The King himself stands to greet her, a smile plastered to his face.  Rufus scrambles to stand and announce her presence.

“Your Grace, may I present Lucy of House Preston, Lady of Rittenfell, Guardian of the Glen and the hero of The Battle for Breath!” Rufus announces.

The entire hall erupts into raucous cheers.  She glances over at Garcia and her heart swells with the look he gives her back.  She is struck by the brilliance of his smile, how utterly handsome he really is. He’s clad in a burgundy brocade doublet, with a plain, black tabard and a black cape with a double battle axe clasp.  He looks like a northern king of old, minus the absent crown.  Although, now that Lucy thinks back, many of the old kings only wore their crowns on important ceremonial or religious days. 

She takes her seat next to him and he squeezes her arm lightly. 

“You look beautiful, Lucy.”

He seems so happy right now, probably the happiest she’s ever seen him (except for the morning after they both made love for the first time).  In fact, as she glances around the head table, she notices that everyone appears to be happy.  Even Rufus and little Kevin appear to be in better spirits.  They might both be just faking, but no one would be able to tell. 

Lucy turns her attention to the horde of people gathered in the hall.  She doesn’t know most of these people, although there are a few familiar faces in the crowd.  She pans over to the left and spies a face she never thought she’d ever see in her family’s great hall: Calhoun.  He grins back at her sheepishly, as if he’s privy to some juicy nugget of gossip that he can’t wait to tell her.  She tilts her head in confusion and receives a mock toast from Calhoun in response. 

She’s anxious right now and wishes she could have some wine more than anything.  _She is totally ordering the servants to have a jug of wine ready for her as soon as this baby is born._   She’s suddenly hit with a feeling of how normal this feels, even with the added anxiety.  She’s with the man she loves, her sister and the man that she loves, (Lucy isn’t blind) and her best friend and the man that she loves.  Emma has been defeated and the threat is over.  Sometimes, it still doesn’t seem real. 

After the meal has been completed, everyone starts to break off into smaller groups.  She spies her sister and Aevin speaking to Jorsten and some of the Goran.  She glides over to the group, still hesitant to join in the conversation.  She stands next to Amy and her sister draws her into her side with a light squeeze.

“I’m in the Godsgarden waiting for her nightly training session, when a fucking dragon lands near me and she climbs on it. A _fucking_ _dragon!_   What kind of woman just climbs on a fucking dragon?  Only a madwoman!” Jorsten roars, as he guzzles from his ale horn.

The group of Goran laugh with lighthearted gusto. 

“Takes one to know one!” Amy quips back.

Jorsten almost gags on his ale.

“Careful now.  We’re supposed to be celebrating. Puking isn’t celebrating,” Amy advises.

Jorsten stops his ale horn mid-lift and stares back at her with his mouth agape.

“Yes it is,” he deadpans.

Even Lucy has to laugh at that.  The man can barely stand on his own two feet when he’s sober, his wounds still not completely healed, but it appears that will not deter him from his celebration.  She wanders from their conversation over to where Garcia is talking to Rufus, Jiya and Denise. 

“I think I was more afraid of dying in that volcano than I was in battle,” Jiya states with a chuckle.

“Jiya, you know how sorry I am about that.  I never meant to make you uncomfortable.  I apologize if I did,” Flynn responds with a slight blush to his cheeks.

“I thought we agreed to never speak about that again, Your Grace?” Jiya whispers, though not quietly enough to avoid being overheard.

“We did, I just want to make sure-because we were in an awkward situation and…”

“What awkward situation?” Rufus asks, as he takes a sip from his goblet.

“Um, ah-um,” Flynn replies as he fidgets.

Jiya looks in the opposite direction, trying in vain to not glance at Flynn.

“I’d also like to hear about this awkward situation,” Lucy chimes in.

Her lover’s face is now the same shade as his doublet, and she’s becoming more intrigued by this mystery as the silence lingers on.

“Well, I’m waiting,” Lucy states, as she taps her foot impatiently.

Flynn has the same look that the street urchins in the capital have when they’re caught stealing a loaf of bread.

“We, uh-we had to get a little bit…a little bit…”

“Risqué,” Jiya interjects.

Rufus spits wine straight out of his mouth and stares at them both with wide eyes.  Lucy watches Flynn intently, as he closes his eyes and swallows hard.  Then, as if a darkened room was suddenly bathed in light, his eyes flash open and his head whips around to Lucy.  His face is filled with panic.  She knows, she’s definitely seen that look before. 

Denise steps forward towards Flynn, practically shoving her daughter behind her.

“Your Grace, are you admitting to untoward behavior towards my daughter?” Denise demands.

“No. _No!_ ”

Jiya grabs her mother by the arm and pulls her back.

“Mama, it wasn’t like that. We were in close quarters and we had to get a little bit…creative in how we maneuvered. That’s all,” Jiya explains.

Flynn leans over towards Rufus and whispers to him, “Your lady has nice legs.”

Rufus looks like he wants to slap Flynn silly.  Instead, he balls his hands into fists and yells back at him, “I know that, but you shouldn’t!”

Flynn and Jiya cannot contain their laughter.  Rufus is irate with literal steam pouring out of his ears.  Flynn slaps his hand onto Rufus’s shoulder, still unable to stop laughing.  Denise has that tell-tale expression of a disappointed mother.  Lucy isn’t sure what to make of the entire situation, but again she feels left out.  They all seem to have had their own little adventures with their own private jokes, while she was virtually kept in isolation.  She chuckles lightly and then meanders back to the high table.  Flynn glances back at her with concern on his face, but then is summoned over to Amy and Aevin’s table.  _At least she’ll have someone to talk to once she has her baby._

She knows the demands Flynn will have on his time, the amount of responsibilities that are thrust upon a king.  She supposes she needs to get used to being alone.  Queens often have even less responsibilities than ladies of great houses, as the royal household is full of a plethora of attendants for this very reason.  She’ll have to find things to occupy her time. 

She takes her seat, sips some water from her goblet, (boy does she really miss wine) and then is startled by something against her leg.  She peers down to find Kevin sitting on the floor petting her wolf.

“He’s so soft,” Kevin states, as he looks up at Lucy.

“He should be, I brushed him earlier,” Lucy answers, as she bends down towards him.

“Can I brush him sometime?”

“Of course.”

“Lady Lucy?”

“Just, Lucy. You only have to address me as Lady Lucy when it’s a formal occasion, remember?” Lucy corrects.

Kevin nods his head.  It’s not like him to be shy or quiet, especially around her.  She leans in closer and sees the tears filling up in his eyes.

“What will happen to me now that father’s gone?” he asks, his lip quivering slightly.

Lucy’s heart instantly shatters, as her maternal instincts kick into high gear.  She pulls him into an embrace and hugs him tightly as he cries. 

“Shh, Kevin.  It’ll be okay,” she states soothingly, as she rubs his back.

Lucy cups his cheek with her hand and tilts his head up so he has to look her straight in the eye.

“What do you want to happen?” Lucy probes.

He’s a little calmer now, though his eyes are still watery.

“I don’t want to go back to Riya.  I want to stay here with you.”

“Why would you go back to Riya?” Lucy asks.

“Cause Rufus hates it here.”

“Well, Riya is your home.  Don’t you miss it even a little bit?  I know I missed my home when I was on Hardstone.”

“ _No!_   It’s boring there,” he answers.

“But, it’s not boring here?”

“No, not really.  They have cool animals here.”

“They don’t have _cool_ animals in Riya?  I bet they do,” Lucy laughs, as she pokes him gently in his side.

“No.  They don’t have dragons or wolves or _mermaids_.”

“ _No?”_ Lucy asks mockingly with a smile.

“No,” he replies with a frown.

“I suppose they don’t.  Is that the only reason you want to stay?”

She can tell Kevin wants to say something, but he’s afraid for some reason.

“You can be honest with me, you know that,” Lucy coaxes.

“You’re here.  I want to be with you.  You’re the closest thing to a mother I’ve ever known,” he responds, as he glances down at his feet.

Lucy’s heart swells and she opens her arms once again.  He hugs her with the same ferocity that Amy used to when she was little. 

“I’m not going anywhere, Kevin.”

“You mean, I can stay with you?  Like, for forever?”

“As long as you want,” Lucy chuckles.

He squeezes her again with a vice-like grip and she genuinely has to use some of her strength to finally separate him from her.

“Come with me,” Lucy states, as she takes his hand in hers.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.  Somewhere much more fun than this,” Lucy answers with a wink.

She sneaks him out the side door and they climb the stairs down into the courtyard.  Snow is nipping at Kevin’s heels, frolicking in the flurries like a newborn pup.  Lucy is glad to see him enjoying Kevin’s company.  Every time she looks at Snow, she feels guilty that this poor animal lost part of its ear to protect her, not to mention the other wolves that gave their lives.

They make their way to the Godsgarden and take a seat on the old birch tree.  The small pond is directly in front of them and Lucy bends down and dips her elbow in.  She wishes she could stick her whole hand in there, but again her stupid bandages are getting in the way.

“Do you know why the pond isn’t frozen over even though winter is here?” Lucy asks.

His eyes squint in concentration as he stares at the pond.

“No,” he answers hesitantly, as he turns to look at her.

“How cold do you think the water is then?”

“Cold,” he answers nonchalantly.

“Dip your fingers in there and let me know,” Lucy suggests.

He eyes her suspiciously, but does as she suggests.

“It’s-it’s warm!” he exclaims.

“It is.  Do you know why?”

Kevin just shakes his head.  She glances around to make sure no one is listening (it’s all for Kevin’s benefit because everyone is inside celebrating) and leans down to his ear.

“It’s my secret mermaid pool,” she whispers.

Kevin’s face lights up like the midday sun, his eyes bulge out of his head and his mouth is wide open as he stares back at her in bewilderment.

“You have to keep it a secret, though.  Can you?” Lucy questions.

Kevin nods his head incessantly. 

“I want to hear you say it,” Lucy states with authority.

“I promise!  I won’t tell anybody, especially because…”

“Especially because what?” she asks curiously.

Kevin has that same expression on his face that he’s afraid to tell her something again.  This is the second time tonight that he’s been hesitant with her and she’s not quite sure why.  Kevin also turns his head and scours the Godsgarden for eavesdroppers.

“Because they say things that aren’t nice about you and I don’t want to give them any more reasons to say not nice things,” he explains.

“Wha-what kinds of things are they saying about me?”

She’s still trying to drag it out of him and he finally breathes out heavily and then looks her straight in the eye.

“They say you’re a demon witch and Snow is your hellbeast.  Some of them also said you would never be Lady of Rittenfell, let alone Queen, if they have anything to say about it,” he whispers.

“Who said these things?” she asks, as she tries to keep calm.

“I don’t remember their names.  I’m sorry, they all look alike.”

Lucy chuckles slightly, trying to hide the hurt she feels inside.  She knew they were giving her weird looks and now she knows why.  She knew why she previously received looks when the elementals were inside her, but now…

She’s not sure what she wants to do with this knowledge.  If she tells Garcia, he’ll wind up maiming or killing them.  She’s positive that if he feels the slightest inclination of a threat towards her or their baby, he won’t hesitate to lash out in some brutal way.  She couldn’t live with herself if that happened.  Let them say what they want.  Lucy doesn’t really care.

For the first time in what feels longer than ten years, Flynn feels like he can finally breathe.  He’s avenged the murders of his family, retaken the throne and helped defeat Emma and the dead. Lucy is alive and has agreed to marry him.  He knows he’s not completely in the clear yet, but it feels good to take a breather for a little bit before he goes back to fretting over Lucy and the baby.  He’s terrified he’ll lose her again.  It’s a burden he cannot bear.  Not again. 

This ever-present fear grips him, which is probably why he’s currently consuming more than his fair share of ale.  He usually prefers wine, if he’s being honest, but learned to acquire a taste for ale while he was serving as a mercenary.  He wanted to be just an ordinary soldier, not an exiled, spoiled prince.  So tonight, he drinks with his men as if he is still one of them.  It’s probably his last chance to do this for a long time. 

He glances around the room and finds everyone laughing and drinking and generally enjoying life; everyone that is, except Lucy.  His vision is a little blurry, but he can’t seem to locate her anywhere in the hall.  _Is she alright?  Is something wrong with her or with the baby?_  

He waits a few minutes, but she doesn’t reappear in the hall.  He excuses himself from his companions and wanders out into the corridor searching for his future wife.  He stops and asks every servant he comes across, yet no one seems to have seen her for a while. 

He wanders further down the corridor and out onto one of the many balconies of the castle.  Perhaps she came outside for some fresh air.  The balcony is devoid of a single soul.  It’s unnerving to him that he cannot find her.  His heart and his mind race at the same time, going over possible locations for Lucy’s whereabouts.  A small flicker of light flashes in his peripheral vision just as he’s leaving the balcony.  He snaps his head back to the light source.  He can’t see that far away, but it appears there’s a lantern in the Godsgarden. 

He rushes back into the castle, down the stairs to the courtyard and out the back gate.  The moon peeks out from behind the clouds and he can see Lucy and Kevin sitting by the old birch tree.  He trudges slowly through the snow towards them.  They both appear to be alright, so he doesn’t feel he needs to rush.

Snow barks and scampers towards him.  He gives the wolf a pat on the head and continues walking towards Lucy and Kevin. Snow prances behind him, as if he’s excited he found a larger playmate than Kevin.

“What are you doing out here?  Is everything okay?” he calls out.

“Just getting some fresh air,” Lucy answers with a smile.

He doesn’t stop the second he reaches them, but takes Lucy’s face in his hands and kisses her passionately.  Kevin starts giggling and Lucy breaks away, leaving him bereft of those honey lips once again. 

“I _knew_ you liked Lucy.”

“Yes, well, you’re a very astute young man, so that doesn’t surprise me,” he answers with a smirk, as he pats Kevin on the head.

“Az tooth?” Kevin repeats in confusion, as he glances over at Lucy.

“Astute,” Lucy corrects.  “It means you’re smart and observant.”

“Oh.”

“I was so worried,” he exclaims, as he kisses her again.

“Garcia, are you going to be like this for the rest of our lives?  I’m pregnant, not made of glass,” Lucy argues.

“You’re having a baby?” Kevin questions excitedly.

“I am, but you can’t tell anyone.  We need to keep that a secret until after we’re married,” Lucy explains.

He can’t believe Lucy’s doing this.  Kevin is a precocious ten year old.  He can’t keep a secret to save his life.

“Lucy.”

She gives him a look that he knows means to back off. 

“I hope it’s a girl,” Kevin opines.

“Why is that?” he asks.

“I don’t want _another_ brother,” he answers with a shrug of his shoulders.

He whips his head to Lucy and she shakes her head in response. 

“Come on, Kevin.  Let’s go back inside.  It’s cold out here,” Lucy suggests, as she takes Flynn’s outstretched hand.

Kevin frowns and sticks his bottom lip out in a pout.

“You don’t want to miss my announcements, do you?” Flynn questions.

Kevin reluctantly agrees and decides to race Snow to the gate.

“You ready for another one of those?” Lucy asks him, as she bumps into his shoulder playfully.

“I don’t think no is really an option at this point,” he laughs.

Lucy stops dead in her tracks, which jerks his body back towards her.  Tears well up in her eyes, yet do not fall. 

“Garcia, if you-if you don’t want this baby-”

“What? Of course I want our baby!  I was only joking that no one is truly ‘ _ready’_ for parenthood.  How could you think that I-that I don’t want our baby?”

This wounds him deeply.  _Why does she constantly doubt his love for her, the love that created this baby?_

“Never mind,” Lucy replies with a wave of her hand.

She continues to shuffle through the snow towards the gate, as he stands there utterly speechless.  He knows Lucy has been through-well, more than anyone, but he worries about her increasing standoffishness with him.

He catches up with Lucy and Kevin, and they all slip back into the great hall, but not unnoticed.  They have walked in on what appears to be an argument between some of the Northern and Southern lords.  Kevin goes over and sits with Jessica at her table, while Lucy and he take their seats at the high table.  He allows the bickering to continue for a moment before he slams his stein onto the table with a thud.  Everyone stops instantly and turns to him.

“I have a few orders of business to get through before we continue the celebration,” he announces.

Everyone groans, but takes a seat.

“Settle down!  Sir Rufus Mason and Kevin Mason,” he states, as he gestures to the middle of the floor in front of the high table.

Kevin gets up from his seat and stands in front of the table, his head down as if he’s afraid he’s in trouble for something.  Rufus scrambles from his seat to join his brother, clearly uneasy about what is about to transpire. 

“What did you do?” Rufus whispers in an accusatory manner to Kevin.

“Nuthin,” Kevin mutters back.

Flynn approaches him and takes the fabric from the left side of Rufus’ tunic in his hand.  He pierces the fabric with the silver pin and then stands back.

“Sir Rufus Mason.  I name you Hand of the King.”

Rufus glances down at the pin and breathes out a sigh of relief.  Flynn then turns his attention to Kevin.

“Your courage and fearlessness in the crypts during the Battle for Breath was commendable,” he states.

Kevin flashes a glance at Lucy, who nods her head at him.

“You may be young, but there is no age limit on bravery.  I name you as my personal squire,” Flynn announces.

Kevin stands with a beaming smile upon his face.  Flynn has never seen him this happy before.  Kevin bows to his king and then takes his place behind Lucy.

“There is one other item I need to address,” he announces.

He holds his hand out to Lucy and she takes it without question as she stands.

“Lady Preston and I are to be wed.”

Instead of the cheers he expects to hear, grumbling takes its place instead.  His ears hone in on one of the loudest detractors, his cousin, Lord Thompkins. 

“Lord Thompkins, is there some concern over this arrangement?” he asks.

“With all due respect Your Grace, a good deal of us do not trust the lady.  Who knows what kind of sorcery she is capable of?  Surely, there must be a more suitable match.  Even the younger Lady Preston would be more acceptable,” Lord Thompkins states with conviction.

Amy chokes on her wine, gagging to the point where Aevin has to hit her back.  Lucy drops her hand from his and slumps back into her chair.  He glances over at her with a heavy heart.  Lucy is clearly distraught about this development. 

“My lord, was it not you who practically begged me to marry Lady Lucy in King’s Keep?” he yells with a booming voice.

“I did, Your Grace.  But, that was before…”

“Before what?”

“Before she became a demon witch!” a voice roars from the back of the hall.

The man stands up from a table at the back of the hall.  He’s approximately the same age as himself, with sandy-blond hair and a full beard.  He does not know the man, which means he’s not a Southern lord.  His manner of dress suggests he’s a Northerner.  He balls his hands into fists, fuming at the insult being hurled at the woman he loves.

He glances again at Lucy, who appears close to tears, which causes his blood to boil even more.  Rufus leans over from his right side and whispers into his ear that the man is Lord Humiston of Holmesgate.  He’s about to have him thrown into irons for impugning a high-born lady’s reputation, but finds his mouth is not cooperating at the moment.

“Say that again about my sister and I’ll cut your throat!” Amy shrieks, as she pushes her chair back with authority and stands.

Lord Humiston and a few other Northern lords move to the side of the hall with Lord Thompkins and the rest of the Southern contingent.  The remainder of the Northern lords stand in opposition to them and maintain their positions.  They bicker and squabble like sparring siblings, yelling above his own protestations of their characterization of his future wife. 

Suddenly, a man stands up on one of the tables, towering over the others like a giant among boys.  The man is dressed in plain, brown, woolen clothing, his unkempt grayish-white hair and beard would definitely benefit from meeting a brush. Everyone stops mid-conversation and stares at him.

“Most of you know me, some of you outlanders don’t.  The name’s Calhoun.  I’ve lived in The Glen my entire life.  My ancestors lived in the North their entire lives.  I’ve known Lady Lucy her entire life.  If she’s a demon witch, I’m the fucking God of Thunder.”

Everyone in the hall chuckles, except for Lucy and himself.

“None of you would be breathing if it wasn’t for the lady.  All of the magical beings have left her.  There were multiple witnesses.  I understand the skepticism of you _Southerners_ , but _real_ Northerners know about magic.  She was sent to us by the gods themselves.  She’s my queen, from this day to her last day!” he declares, as he unsheathes his sword and plants it into the table with force.

Lucy puts her head in her hands.  He’s guessing she knows this man by her reaction, but she hasn’t spoken a word since this whole debacle began.  Another man at the table next to Calhoun suddenly stands.  Rufus informs him that the man is Lord Ness of Ravengrove, one of the Northern houses west of Rittenfell.  He is young, probably around twenty, with jet black, curly hair and a beard consisting mostly of stubble.

“Calhoun speaks plainly, but truthfully.  We all owe Lady Lucy a debt.  If the gods didn’t send her to us, explain how she cheated death, not once but twice?” Lord Ness asks.

The hall occupants start to nod and chatter again, but Lord Ness interrupts them once more.

“No offense, but I don’t know you Your Grace.  And, we haven’t exactly fared well as a people under the rule of House Flynn.  Come to think of it, we haven’t fared well under the rule of any Southern King.  So, I think it’s time to start a new tradition.  House Ness will stand behind House Preston as we have for hundreds of years.  And, I will stand behind Lady Lucy: The Queen in the North!” Lord Ness exclaims, as he also unsheathes his sword and kneels.

Lucy flashes her eyes and looks at Flynn.  A good portion of the Northern lords nod in agreement.  Lord Humiston stands next and turns to address the two of them.

“I called you a demon witch…and for that I apologize.  It was wrong of me, my lady.  A man can only admit when he’s wrong and ask for forgiveness,” Lord Humiston begs.

“I forgive you, my lord,” Lucy announces.

“My son was killed by Emma at The Bloody Wedding.  But, you avenged him.  Lady Lucy is the White Wolf: The Queen in the North!” Lord Humiston yells, as he stretches his sword skyward.

The remaining Northern lords and their men stand and thrust their swords into the air.

“The Queen in the North!  The Queen in the North!  The Queen in the North!” they all chant continuously.

Lucy stands and they cheer even louder.  She turns and looks at him with bewilderment written across her face.

Lord Thompkins is irate.  “You’re all mad!  You’d rather be ruled by a woman than a renowned warrior of royal lineage?”

“You’re a Southerner.  You wouldn’t understand.  The North was an independent kingdom for a thousand years before it became a part of the Kingdom of Ritten,” Calhoun replies.

“Your Grace, they’re actually advocating treason.  You’re going to stand for this?” Lord Thompkins demands.

Flynn grabs ahold of Lucy’s hand and kisses it.

“I have no objection to Lucy being a queen in her own right.  She saved my life, as well as all of yours.  The kingdoms will be united under our union,” Flynn states confidently.

He lifts his stein and turns to Lucy.  “The Queen in the North.”

Lucy picks up her water goblet and turns to face him.  “The King in the South.”

The compromise seems to have quelled the discontent, at least for now.  He’s just lost half of his kingdom and he doesn’t care.  He could rule over five or five thousand.  It doesn’t matter.  All that matters is being with Lucy and their baby.  They will rule together or they won’t rule at all.

 

 


	38. North and South

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The North and South are united with the wedding of King Garcia and Queen Lucy.

A fortnight after the battle, Lucy wakes with butterflies in her stomach.  Her wedding day has finally arrived.  If it was up to her, she would prefer to have a simple, private ceremony with the least amount of fanfare possible.  Unfortunately, her wishes have been overruled by not only her betrothed, but her sister and her friend. 

Garcia argues that the people need something to celebrate after the war and the newly begun recovery effort.  Amy argues that the wedding of a queen is not something that can be done simply, it’s a grand event that needs to be posh and elegant.  Jiya’s argument is that Lucy deserves some pampering after all she’s gone through.  All of their arguments have merit, but she still would rather have a small wedding.

Her chamber door opens and a bevy of maids file through.  They carry multiple trays of food and two iron tubs.  The appearance of a second tub confuses her.  _Do they think she needs two baths on her wedding day?  What is going on here?_  

She eats her breakfast while they fill the tub with water.  They begin filling the other tub as well and Lucy finally asks the maids what they’re doing.  Apparently, her sister has given specific instructions to bathe Snow as well, because even the queen’s pet must look his best today.  Lucy rolls her eyes and finishes up her breakfast. 

Her maids pour lavender oil and freesia petals into her bath, and Lucy climbs into the tub.  Snow does not want to go into the tub the maids prepared for him.  Lucy has to order the wolf into the water.  He jumps in begrudgingly and tolerates being washed for an entire five minutes before jumping back out.  He shakes the water from his fur, soaking the two maids washing him in the process, before sunning himself by the window.

Lucy relaxes in the tub as her maids wash her hair.  Her mind drifts.  Life has certainly been interesting in the time between her first and second wedding.  The irony of her becoming a queen in her own right is also not lost on her.  Her mother had always wanted her to marry a king in order to obtain the power her family craved.  The fact that she’s acquired power on her own, without the need of a man, brings a smile to her face.  _Take that Mom!  I did it all on my own._   Plus, the king she is marrying would never have made her mother happy.  He’s way too stubborn and pig-headed to be easily manipulated like Noah would have. 

She finishes her bath and then allows her maids to dress her.  Amy has kept this dress under lock and key since its arrival, so this is literally the first time she’s ever laid eyes on it.  As her maid holds up the gown, Lucy’s jaw drops.  The white gown is breathtakingly beautiful.  It has a scoop neckline and is made of lace and tulle.  The bodice consists of lilac-colored lace flowers and beading.  The dress fits her perfectly in every respect and even she has to admit she’s never looked this good in her life.  Unlike her first wedding where she had to plaster a fake smile to her face, the smile that she now wears is completely genuine. 

There’s a knock on the door as her maids are fastening her dress.  Lucy bids them entry and Amy, Jiya and Jessica swoop into her chamber in a frenzy.  She’s grown closer with Jessica, strategically picking her brain about what it’s like to be pregnant.  Lucy’s pregnancy is still in the early stages, while Jessica is approaching the end of hers.  Lucy has noticed how uncomfortable she’s seemed in the last week alone.  _Just another thing to look forward to._

Amy and Jiya each hold a small box in their hands and Jessica also holds something behind her back.  If it’s what Lucy thinks it is, she’s glad she is getting married in the tradition of the old gods.  The symbolism of everything involved in one of those ceremonies has never been more important, especially after all they’ve been through. 

“Lucy, you look like the goddess herself,” Amy exclaims, as she circles and inspects her sister.

Lucy blushes.  She normally would chalk it up to Amy being a bit dramatic, but she actually feels beautiful for once in her life. 

Amy holds out the small box in her hands.  “This is something old,” she states, as she hands it to Lucy.

Lucy opens the box to find chandelier earrings encrusted with diamonds and emeralds.

“They belonged to Princess Lucy and have been passed down the Preston line ever since,” Amy advises.

Lucy puts the earrings on herself, marveling at how heavy they are with the weight of the jewels.  Jiya hands her the small box she is carrying next.

“Something borrowed.  Anthony gave me this for my name day when I was studying at Shadowspear,” Jiya states.

Lucy opens the box to find a bracelet fashioned with the famous black stones of Shadowspear.  It’s fitting that she carry a bit of House Bruhl’s homeland with her today, since none of this would have happened without Anthony. 

“Lastly,” Jessica declares, as she pulls the item from behind her back, “Something blue.”

She holds a bouquet of blue orchids and calla lilies, grown right here at Rittenfell in the greenhouse.  Somehow, the flowers survived the assault on the castle when most of the others were destroyed. 

“Now I only need something new,” Lucy comments, as she takes the bouquet from Jessica’s hands.

“I think I can help with that,” Denise announces, as she pokes her head inside the chamber door.

Lucy greets her with a huge hug.  Denise is carrying a large, wooden box that is ornately engraved.  She opens it herself, revealing a sparkling crown resting on top of velvet lining. 

“His Grace had this forged for you.”

Lucy gingerly picks up the crown and inspects it.  It’s silver and has a delicate, open-metalwork filigree pattern of a wolf on one side and a dragon on the other.  The heads of both animals meet in the middle.  It is simple, yet beautiful and Lucy feels it suits her.  Denise places the crown upon her head and then stands back with the other ladies to admire the view.  Every single one of them is grinning from ear to ear and tears are streaming down Amy’s face as well. 

There is only one more item she needs to complete her ensemble.  Her maids fasten the fur-lined white cloak a moment later.  Lucy pulls the hood up and over her crown and begins her last walk through the castle as a single woman. 

He was not nervous the first time he was married.  Lorena was beautiful enough and to be honest, that’s all he really cared about when he was so young.  It’s different this time, much different.  He has never loved anyone like he loves Lucy.  Not only will they unite as man and wife, they will also unite the kingdoms of the North and South.  Most importantly, it will ensure his child is not born a bastard. 

He has no reason to be this nervous.  Lucy and he have been practically living as husband and wife for a while now.  Not much will change.  Still, his nerves grow like wildflowers in a meadow untouched by human existence.  His crown is already getting on his nerves, and he keeps shifting it around trying to find a more comfortable fit. 

He waits in the greenhouse for his bride.  They decided to get married in here instead of next to the old birch tree.  It’s just so cold outside and he was worried it wouldn’t be good for Lucy.  At least if they have it in here, they can remain warm and in proximity to the Godsgarden.  Amy has decorated the entire greenhouse with as many flowers as she could find, and he has to admit she’s done a fantastic job. 

The sun is shining brightly, even though it’s the dead of winter.  He knows the time is getting closer as the common folk begin to fill the battlements to get a glimpse of the wedding.  Only a select few have been invited into the greenhouse.  The rest of the lords and ladies line the path from the castle.  They will all get their glimpse as Lucy walks by. 

Jessica and Denise enter the greenhouse and find their seats a few minutes later.  He knows the processional has begun.  Jiya and Amy are a few steps behind them.  Then he sees her.  The sun streams down upon her as if it revolves around her, the gleaming goddess of luminosity.  Her face is shaded by the hood of her cloak, but a curl of her dark, raven mane bounces out as she walks.  Her wolf trails behind her, his fur as clean as fresh fallen snow. 

He feels a hand thump his shoulder, as Rufus whispers for him to breathe.  He nods his head in affirmation, but cannot take his eyes off of his bride. 

Suddenly, a roar rings out from the heavens above.  It’s unmistakably a dragon, but he knows it’s not Maelstrom.  He’d be able to feel him.  He prays that it’s Jiya or Amy’s dragons, because the alternative is downright dreadful.  Lucy stops dead in her tracks and scans the sky.  Her wolf moves to the front of her, baring its teeth and snarling.  Lucy’s eyes grow wide and he knows what she’s seeing.  She wouldn’t look like that if the dragon was friendly. 

His feet fail to move, frozen in place with a helpless fear that is all too familiar.  The frost dragon decides it’s going to land right in front of the greenhouse.  There’s now a huge dragon blocking his path to Lucy and he’s unarmed right now.  His heart is hammering in his throat.  He has no idea what to do. 

The next thing he knows, he hears Maelstrom’s roar thundering over the moor.  The frost dragon looks skyward and bellows out another roar of its own.  Maelstrom lands (much to the common folk’s chagrin) on top of one of the castle towers. 

Lucy is just as stuck as he is, unable to get around the dragon without risking becoming a snack.  Then, the most peculiar thing happens.  The frost dragon bows its head and front legs simultaneously, as if it’s kneeling for its queen.  Snow stops growling and snarling and moves to the side.  Maelstrom roars again and the frost dragon roars back with an almost bleating intonation, as if the two beasts were having a conversation.  Lucy reaches out and places her hands on the dragon.  Then, Flynn hears that familiar sound of a dragon purring.  _It’s bonding with her!_  

After Lucy pets it for a few minutes, it flaps its wings and flies to the castle tower opposite of Maelstrom.  Flynn flashes into action and rushes towards Lucy in a frenzy.  She’s already moving towards him at her normal pace, which gives him some relief.  She stops in front of him and he nearly faints when she lowers the hood of her cloak.  Her eyes sparkle with the panache of a prancing peacock parading its plumage for a potential mate.  Her smile is the widest he’s ever seen and it radiates with a brilliant incandescence.

The crown he had fashioned fits her to a tee.  It has a simple elegance to it, just like her.  His hands shake uncontrollably as he reaches out for hers.  The second their fingers intertwine, the shaking subsides a good deal, yet still latently lies within him.  He has prayed for this day, hoped for this day, wished upon all the gods and stars for this day and it is finally here. 

The priestess wraps the white silk ribbon around their interlaced hands. 

“Who gives this woman to this man?” the priestess asks.

He almost loses it completely when he glances at Lucy.  The glare that she’s giving the priestess would shake fear in the most accomplished of soldiers. 

“Queens are not property to be given away to anyone.  Nor is any woman for that matter,” Lucy bites.

The priestess nods, skips over that section of the ceremony and proceeds to the next.

“In the presence of your kin and your ancestors, do you, Lucy of House Preston, daughter of Lord Benjamin Preston and Lady Carol of House Whitmore, Queen in the North and First of Her Name, take this man to be your husband?”

“I am his and he is mine, for this night and all nights to come,” Lucy states, as she stares directly into his eyes.

His chest is about to burst his heart is hammering so hard.  He’s been hers for a long, long time.  She possesses not only his heart, but his soul.  He knows that he will love her well beyond his dying day.  Neither time, nor distance, nor death can shatter his love for her. 

The priestess turns to him.

“In the presence of your kin and your ancestors, do you, Garcia of House Flynn, son of Asher I and Lady Maria of House Thompkins, King of Ritten and First of His Name, take this woman to be your wife?”

He’s never been great with words, but these flow from his lips with the ease of a flowing stream.

“I am hers and she is mine, for this night and all nights to come.”

“I proclaim you King and Queen, husband and wife.  You may kiss the bride,” the priestess instructs.

He does not hesitate an instant before his hands grasp her face.  He leans down and kisses her softly, but passionately.  He deepens the kiss a moment later, ignoring every single royal and societal protocol, his love and passion for her all-consuming.  As they finally part, a smirk on his face from ear to ear, the celebrants erupt in cheers.  _Finally, after everything, they belong to one another…forever._

__

The music is loud, the food and wine are flowing and everyone seems to be enjoying themselves.  It has come to that time where generally someone will make the suggestion of a bedding ceremony, but she has the distinct impression her husband has already threatened to kill anyone daring enough to insinuate such an endeavor.  By the looks she’s been receiving from her husband for quite a while now, no one within the castle walls will be able to deny they consummated the marriage once they do make it back to their bedchamber.  _And, she’s totally, irrevocably fine with that_. 

Ten minutes later, Lucy feels as if she’s waited long enough.  She stands abruptly and extends her hand to her husband.  His eyes dance with lust and longing and he takes her hand and leads her from the great hall.  As soon as they reach the corridor, she is literally swept off her feet and into his arms.  He carries her to the lord’s chamber, which her maids have decked out with candles and flower petals.  He gently lays her down on the bed before getting back up to shut and lock the chamber door. 

His hand hasn’t even left the door yet before she pounces on him.  His back slams into the door, as he grabs Lucy’s thighs and lifts her.  Her mouth seals onto his, as she kisses him possessively and passionately.  _He’s hers._

She unlaces his tunic with a sublime nimbleness. 

“Loocy,” he mumbles.

The next thing she knows, her back hits the bed as her husband kisses a trail down her neck.  They’re both raring and ready to go, but they have the luxury of more time to explore and enjoy each other and neither one of them looks to be in a particular rush.  He inches her dress up slowly, skimming his hand up her thigh. 

“You look…”

He could finish that sentence in a number of ways. She’s quite distracted right now with his hand between her legs, as he continues his ministrations down her neck to her chest.

“You look…like the goddess of love herself,” he whispers.

“Not a goddess.  A queen.”

“A queen,” he repeats.  “My queen…my _wife_!”

The wicked glint in his eye almost makes her come.  She has never seen that look on his face before.  It is almost a combination of love, lust, longing and lechery.  It is deliciously delightful and Lucy wants him to look at her like that for the rest of her life. 

He hikes her dress up even further, kissing from her ankle up her leg, as she lets out a breathy sigh. Finally, after a few minutes, he removes her dress entirely.  Lucy wants her husband desperately, so she pushes him over and climbs on top of him.  She kisses down his chest until she gets to his trousers.  He helps her remove them and now they’re on an equal playing field. 

Pregnancy has made her insatiable and she does not hesitate one second to consummate their marriage. 

“What in seven hells has gotten into you?” he laughs.

“Hopefully, my husband,” she replies with a wicked smile before she kisses him passionately again.

He grabs a hold of her face and pulls back mid-kiss.

“What are you doing?” Lucy questions.

“Checking to make sure your eyes are still brown.”

She smacks his arm.  “Are you drunk?” she asks.

“Maybe a little,” he answers, as he cinches his fingers together to illustrate.

“Just don’t pass out midway through,” she scolds.

“Never,” he answers teasingly.

Lucy isn’t sure when they finally fell asleep.  All she knows is that whenever they do emerge from their marital bed, they both might be walking a little funny.  They also will probably receive a few looks and raised eyebrows behind their backs, considering how loud they both were last night.

She curls into his side, pulling the furs tighter, as the fire is almost completely out by now.  Lucy is blissfully happy and she is determined to maintain that feeling for as long as she can.  She knows the rocky road ahead of her, so she decides she’s going to live each day to the fullest. 

__

If he is dreaming, he does _not_ want to be woken up.  He and Lucy are married.  _Married._   He still has trouble believing it, but when she’s snuggling with him under the furs like this, it serves as a wonderful reminder.  He does not understand why this amazing woman would love _him_ , but he’s forever indebted to whichever god made it so. 

He has a million and one responsibilities to attend to, but right now the world can wait because he needs to attend to his wife’s every desire.  He finds if he focuses on her beauty, he can stop worrying about her so much. 

He pulls back from her and she makes a disapproving groan in her sleep.  The fire has gone out, which leaves the chamber with a slight chill.  He can see a torrent of flurries falling through the window which explains why he’s so cold.  Plus, his personal little spitfire is no longer emitting heat like a blazing inferno next to him.  He could yell for a servant to come in and stoke the fire, but Lucy’s sleeping so peacefully and she’s also _very_ naked, the furs not covering nearly enough of her.  It’s fine for him, but no one else will ever see his wife naked if he has anything to say about it.  He knows this isn’t realistic since her maids will dress and bathe her, but still…

He could also get up and stoke the fire himself, but he’s too comfortable to leave the warmth of the furs right now.  His only other option is to create some heat on his own.  He decides he prefers this last option, so he retreats under the furs.  He begins to slowly press light, little kisses up her ankle and then her thigh.  Lucy is stirring slightly, but she’s not quite fully awake just yet.  He continues kissing up her thigh as he spreads her legs even further.  She gasps loudly as he twirls his tongue into her and he knows she’s awake now.  She’s clawing for his hair, but keeps finding the furs instead. 

“Garcia!” she screams.

Hearing her scream his name just compels him to keep going and furthers his determination to pleasure his wife. She’s writhing in pleasure beneath his hands and he doesn’t ease up until she stops shaking entirely.  He crawls back up the bed and pulls her into his arms. 

“Good morning, my queen,” he whispers, as he kisses her neck.

“Mmm, I like being queen,” she teases in response.

“I am your humble servant, Your Grace.”

He’s being dead serious, but she swats his hand playfully thinking he’s sassing her.  He cups her face in his hand and turns her towards him.

“I’m serious, Lucy.  I live to serve you.”

“Stop it, Garcia!” she exclaims, as she blushes.

“Never,” he growls, as he runs his hands up and down her curves.

“You are a ridiculous man,” she states, as she kisses him back.

“A man who is ridiculously in love.”

She laughs and he just tells her he loves her over and over again.  He will never stop.  Never.  She is his personal goddess of light and love and he will worship her appropriately or die trying.

 

 


	39. A Mother's Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jessica goes into labor. Flynn and Wyatt continue to have issues in their relationship. Lucy and Flynn take charge of a sticky situation. Lucy faces her greatest test yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for upsetting content/death.

**_Rittenfell_ **

Spring is on the horizon, yet the mood in the castle is all but hopeful.  Winter has decided to shower the North with one last monstrous snowstorm.  The castle is cold, despite the numerous fires burning at all hours.  Lucy is visibly pregnant by this point, which provides a good deal of hope for her people, yet pregnancy always comes with its own dangers.  The bloodlines of the kings have been combined. Her child is the heir apparent to both the Kingdom of the North and the Kingdom of Ritten.  She prays she makes it through childbirth.  She knows that it is a risk in a normal woman in these times, let alone someone who went through what she went through.  She has felt stronger by the day, but she worries about the cost to her child.  She needs to be here for her baby.  She needs to make sure this child is raised with love and attention and not used as a political pawn in someone else’s designs for the throne. 

The throne.  It still seems so alien to her.  She’s responsible for…well, that hasn’t exactly been completely worked out yet, but she knows she’s in charge of The Glen and The Tundra at this point.  She’s even heard rumors that the inhabitants of The Watershed that fled to Rittenfell are voting soon on whether they want to remain a part of Ritten or join the North and have Lucy as their queen.  She worries Garcia will be upset if they vote for her, but she knows deep down he doesn’t really care about being king.  He could be her queen’s guard and he’d be happy.

Everything is up in the air right now.  The population has been decimated, many of the castles lie in ruin, and no one is quite sure how Garcia and she will rule both kingdoms together, but rule together they will. 

She stares out the large, stained-glass window of the chapel pondering all the changes in her life, as she watches the snow pummel the ground.  She usually makes her daily trek to the Godsgarden, but frequents the chapel when the weather is inclement.  She has not seen her dragon, Frostbite, or any of the others since the latest snowstorm started three days ago.  It’s been an adjustment to say the least to become a dragonrider, especially when one’s husband is acting as if she’s made of glass.  She has snuck out of the castle on more than one occasion to take a ride by herself, only to land and find him waiting and worrying about her.  She’s terrified to think about what he’ll be like in the next few months as she closes in on the end of her pregnancy. 

There is a knock on the door to the chapel and she turns to find her sister standing in the doorway.

“Jessica is in labor,” Amy informs her.

“Really?”

“Yep.  Jiya and Denise are attending to her now and Wyatt is pacing the throne room like a caged lion.”

“How’s Aevin doing?”

“He’s excited about being an uncle…and a little scared for his sister, but he won’t admit it,” Amy answers, as she rolls her eyes.

“You two have been spending quite a lot of time together.  I’ve noticed you even took him for a ride on Zephyr,” Lucy teases.

“We have.  I like him and he likes me.  After everything we’ve been through, I’m not wasting a second anymore.  Life is too precious, Luce.”

Lucy knows how true that is.  She nods in agreement, then brings her hand to her stomach as she scrunches her nose up in annoyance. 

“What’s that look for?”

She grabs Amy’s hand and places it on her belly. 

“Oh, I felt it!  The baby kicked!” Amy exclaims.

“This child has been kicking the crap out of me all morning,” Lucy whines.

“Better you than me,” Amy jests.

Lucy playfully slaps her sister’s arm. 

“You may be in my shoes one day soon,” Lucy counters.

“I hope not too soon.”

Lucy chuckles and takes her sister’s arm, as she strolls out of the chapel and down the corridor.

Garcia has spent the morning in the throne room sitting near the fireplace, going over plans to rebuild King’s Keep with Rufus and watching Wyatt carve a hole in the wooden floor with his incessant pacing.  It reminds him of what he was like when Iris was born.  He was going crazy wondering what was taking so long.  Finally, his brother had to drag him back to his chamber and ply him with drink to keep him out of everyone’s way. 

He’d do the same for Wyatt, but a drunk Wyatt is not what anyone needs right now.  He knows he’ll be much worse when it comes time for Lucy to deliver.  He’s already decided he’s going to be right next to her holding her hand the entire time.  Let someone try to stop him. 

He is trying his best to ignore Wyatt’s distracting movement.  _At least he’s not yammering away._ After he finishes signing the stack of parchment Rufus has, Wyatt wanders over to his table.

“Did it take this long when Lorena had Iris?”

It’s only then that he notices that evening is setting in and they’ve been in the hall the entire day.

“Even longer.  It was more than a day,” he answers.

“I need to go check and see what’s going on,” Wyatt announces, as he breaks for the door. 

Rufus moves to try and stop him, but Flynn shakes his head. 

“Better to just let him go right now.  Jiya will bite his head off if he interrupts her, but that’s his problem now.”

_He’s a king, not a nanny or overlord._   He knows that labor can be longer when it’s a woman’s first child, but it has been a long time since they’ve heard anything.  He also wonders where Lucy is.  He had so much “royal business” to slog through, he hasn’t seen her in hours.  He stops a servant passing in the corridor.

“La-Queen Lucy.  Do you know where she is?”

“Not sure, Your Grace.  I believe she was in the chapel some time ago,” the servant replies.

_The chapel?  What’s wrong?  What’s she praying for?_   His heart races a mile a minute as he moves towards the chapel.  As he turns the corner, he can clearly hear Jessica screaming.  Her cries only impel him forward with a greater urgency.  He makes the last turn before he reaches the chapel and finds Lucy and Amy strolling towards him. 

“Lucy!  Is everything okay?  They told me you were in the chapel.”

“I was. Would you prefer if I went to the Godsgarden instead?” she snaps.

He is mortified.

“Ignore her.  Your spawn has been beating her from the inside out all day,” Amy chimes in trying to diffuse the situation.

“Oh, Lucy,” he whispers, as he pulls her into his arms.

“I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to snap,” she whispers back.

“You can snap whenever you need to, my love,” he informs her, as he kisses her forehead.

“I don’t know what it is, but I’ve just felt off today.”

“Then, you should be resting,” he states emphatically, as he takes her by the arm and leads her down the corridor.

He’s not taking no for an answer.  After traversing two corridors, he picks her up and carries her the rest of the way to their chamber.  He massages her shoulders and feet and peppers her with kisses until she nestles into his side. 

“You’d tell me if you thought something was wrong with you or the baby, wouldn’t you?” he questions.

She turns his chin so he’s facing her.  “Of course!”

He takes her hand in his and brings it to his lips.

“I love you too much, Lucy.  I couldn’t bear it if I lost you again.”

“Nor could I bear losing you.  So, stop hovering over me before I murder you in your sleep.”

She winks at him a second later and he buries his head in her neck pressing kisses between his bouts of uncontrollable laughter. 

Later, in the dead of night, he is woken up by one of his servants.  Careful not to disturb Lucy, he slips out of bed, throws on his breeches and tunic and shuts the door behind him. 

“What’s going on?” he grumbles.

“Lady Marri has requested your presence, Your Grace.  Some matter of great import, I believe.”

He barrels down the corridor and turns the corner towards Jessica and Wyatt’s chamber.  As soon as he rounds the corner, he can hear those familiar cries of a newborn and he spies Jiya and Denise standing outside the chamber door.  As he closes the gap between them, he can see that something is very wrong just by the looks on their faces.

Jiya rushes towards him, grabbing his forearm and pulling him into an adjacent room.

“What?  Is it the baby?” he dares to question.

“The baby is fine.  A little girl,” Jiya responds.

He doesn’t dare ask the next question, the only other question he could ask.  Jiya’s forlorn face tells him everything he needs to know.  He exhales loudly, afraid to ask the next question he needs an answer to.

“Wyatt?”

“He’s with her now, but he…he isn’t accepting the reality of the situation.  There’s nothing I can do.  I wish there was, but there isn’t,” Jiya states, as she lowers her head and breaks eye contact.

He inches closer to Jiya and places his hand on her shoulder to offer some modicum of comfort.  He can see the tears welling in her eyes, the panic, fear and failure spreading through her body.  He knows Jiya did everything she could to save Jessica.  There’s no doubt in his mind.  He’s never been the most demonstrative person, but feels a closeness to Jiya.  She’s become the younger sister that he never had.  So, he pulls her into a hug and she grips him with the same ferocity she did when they were dangling from that ledge in the caldera.  He allows her to hang on for as long as she needs. 

As she pulls away, they both turn towards the chamber where Denise is still standing waiting for them.  As they approach Denise, they hear footsteps running down the corridor behind them.  They both turn to see who it is and find Aevin in a disheveled state, pale and sweaty, coming towards them.  He feels for this young man, knows what he’s going through, the loss and anger and agony that ravages his heart and mind.  Aevin has already lost a mother when he was young, then lost Anthony and now is about to lose the only family he has left: Jessica. 

Aevin doesn’t stop when he reaches them, just barges head on into the room.  Flynn remains outside with Jiya and Denise, but he can hear what’s going on better now that the baby has calmed down slightly.  He peeks into the room just to make sure Wyatt doesn’t do something stupid and attack Aevin right now.  The scene is more than he is emotionally prepared for.  Jessica is lying in the blood-soaked bed, barely conscious, with Wyatt sitting in a chair next to her holding their baby in his arms.  Wyatt has been crying, his eyes puffy and red, but he is not actively shedding tears at the moment. 

Aevin rushes to her other side and she slowly reaches her hand out for him.  Aevin takes hold of her hand and calls out her name.

“Isn’t she beautiful, Aevin?” Jessica asks.

Wyatt turns his body to show the baby to Aevin from the other side of the bed. 

“She is, Jess.  She really is.  What have you named her?”

Flynn can tell Aevin is trying to remain calm for Jessica’s sake, but he can hear the despair dripping from his voice. 

“Kassica, after my mother, Katharine, and Jess,” Wyatt replies.

“Wyatt,” Jessica calls out.

“Yes?”

“Give us a moment alone, will you?”

Wyatt stumbles to his feet and Aevin gets up as well and takes the baby from his hands before he leaves the room.  Flynn ducks back out into the hallway before Wyatt emerges.  He blows right by him and stalks up to Jiya.

“Do _something_!” he yells at her.

“There’s nothing more I can do,” Jiya answers, as she hangs her head in shame.

“Sure there is.  Do some kind of magic!  You brought Lucy back!” he screams, his face burning with rage.

“You know the rules, Wyatt!  Only death can pay for life,” Jiya argues.

Wyatt turns and stares at him with a wild look that reeks of desperation and murder.  He’s unarmed, having been woken in the middle of the night.  He doesn’t think Wyatt would be dumb enough to…

Suddenly, Wyatt lunges at him, but Denise uses the pommel of her sword to strike him over the head.  He slumps to the ground like a sack of potatoes.  Flynn flinches, but that’s about the last thing on his mind, as he spies Lucy and Amy standing at the end of the corridor.  Undoubtedly, they’ve been woken up from all the commotion. 

He rushes down the corridor towards her with a deep-seated fear spreading through him.  He _cannot_ allow her to be upset by this, the stress not good for a pregnant woman or the baby in the slightest.  He knows Amy senses something is not right when their eyes lock on one another.  Unfortunately, he cannot telepathically tell her to get Lucy out of here before she sees or hears something upsetting. 

“What’s going-”

“Take her back to her chambers and stay with her until I get there,” he commands, as he points in Amy’s direction.

Lucy is certainly taken aback by his comment and tone, but Amy grips her arm and practically drags her down the hallway, despite her loud protestations otherwise.  Jiya follows behind them, far too upset in general to be any help to anyone.  He turns back around to find Denise and a few of her guards surrounding a now conscious Wyatt slumped against the stone wall.  He enters the room without fanfare only to overhear a _way too_ private conversation between the siblings Bruhl. 

“Promise me, Aevin.  Promise me,” Jessica whispers.

“Jess, I-I…”

“Promise me you’ll take care of Kassica.  Wyatt is…just not strong enough to do this on his own.  I know he’s not.  I need to make sure someone will watch out for her, guide her and protect her.  You’re the only one I trust to do this.  Promise me.”

“I promise,” Aevin responds.

The second he utters the words, Jessica slumps in the bed.  She’s gone.  Flynn peers down at Aevin, holding this tiny bundle of joy, staring at his sister’s lifeless body.  Aevin glances back up at him a few moments later, with an expression of helplessness, fear and sorrow.  Instinct takes over and he scoops the baby out of Aevin’s arms.  He cradles her as he rocks back and forth.  Aevin stares blankly back at him, in shock by the sight of the king cooing a baby. 

“I had a daughter once, remember?” Flynn states with an explanatory tone.

Aevin just nods.  The poor guy needs someone.  Wyatt is in no position to help anyone.  He yells for Denise to send for Amy to join them.  She’s the closest person to family Aevin has left and perhaps she can console him somewhat. 

In the meantime, Wyatt manages to push past Denise and collapses over Jessica.  He’s wailing and crying and losing his mind.  His screaming is making the baby cry, so Flynn swiftly moves out of the room with Aevin following.  Wyatt slams the door behind him.  Flynn knows that grief all too well and knows the best thing to do right now is to let him be alone for a few moments. 

Amy comes flying down the corridor a moment later.  Aevin breaks the second he sees her, the tears flowing like a torrent down his cheeks, his legs wobbling in a vain effort to keep him upright.  Amy wraps her arms around Aevin, as he buries his head into her shoulder. 

“I’ve got her.  Take care of him,” he instructs her.

Amy nods in response and leads Aevin back down the hall towards his chamber.  Flynn stares down at Kassica, this beautiful, little girl that it seems he’s now in charge of since everyone else is in no condition at the moment.  His mind wanders to the fact this is about to be his own reality. He prays every night that Lucy’s fate is the opposite of Jessica’s.  He knows it’s very much a possibility, which is why he’s been hovering over his beloved day and night and driving her crazy in general.

He commands one of the servants to find a wet nurse and brings the baby back to his and Lucy’s chambers. 

Lucy is freaking out.  Not only is her husband speaking to her in a manner that he hasn’t in…well, since they met initially, but her sister has now left her to attend to this crisis as well.  She’s alone in her chamber, except for Snow, her constant companion it seems, at least nowadays.  She knows Garcia is afraid and that’s why he’s smothering her, but her fate is not contingent upon her husband doting on her.  If she is fated to die, then she will die.  She already has once before.  She doesn’t want to, but she’s placed her life and her fate in the hands of the gods to do with as they please. 

She’s pacing her room to the point Snow is giving her an annoyed look.  _She’s done with being told to stay in her room.  She’s a queen in her own right, damn it!  She doesn’t have to take this._   She turns on her heel and strolls toward the door.  It opens before she can reach it and her husband glides through, a small bundle in his arms.

“My Queen, may I introduce you to Lady Kassica Logan,” he declares, as he passes the baby to Lucy’s waiting arms.

The instant she takes the baby and holds her, he is hit with a wave of emotion, as well as an old memory.  Lucy is radiant with this new life in her arms and he cannot wait to see what she looks like when she’s holding their baby.  He also remembers the look Lorena had when they first placed Iris into her arms.  He still misses them and he’ll never forget them, but he has somehow found a way to move on, as well as a way to love again.  He feels terrible for Wyatt and Aevin.  He knows what that kind of loss can do to a man and he wouldn’t wish it on anyone he cares about.  He wouldn’t even wish it on Wyatt, and he only tolerates him at best. 

“What’s going on Garcia?”

“Jessica didn’t make it.  Wyatt lost his mind with grief and tried to attack me.  Denise stopped him of course.  None of them have experience with babies, except for Denise, so I took her for the time being; at least, until the wet nurse gets here.”

Lucy frowns, but then the baby distracts her and her face lights up once again.  She glances up at her husband, his devotion and love pouring out of him as he watches her.  It also occurs to her that she needs to discuss this with him in case something happens.

“Garcia, if-if I don’t make it through childbirth…”

“Shh, don’t say that my love,” he interrupts, as he places a kiss to her forehead.

“ _If_ it happens, you can’t abandon our baby, Garcia.  You _can’t._ ”

“Lucy, I would never.  I would grieve for-for forever, but I would _never_ do that.  As painful as it would be to lose you, our baby is a part of you.  It would be the only part I’d have left.  Plus, I’d have help, just like Wyatt does.”

“Does he know that?” she questions with a frown.

“I don’t think he knows much of anything right now.  He’s blaming everyone, especially Jiya and Denise.  It’s not their fault.  It’s no one’s fault,” he muses.

“Exactly,” she echoes.

Wyatt refuses to have Jessica cremated, even though the ground is still too frozen for a burial, nor will he agree to bury her here.  She was his wife and she will be buried back at Summit Hall.  Aevin is _not_ happy about this.  He prefers to bury her in Shadowspear.  Someone needs to intervene in this dispute and Flynn is ready to step in, but Wyatt balks at this idea, reminding everyone of Flynn’s implicit bias.

Lucy steps in, offering to make a sarcophagus for Jessica.  The crypts have a few empty plain ones on hand.  As much as Aevin protests, Jessica was Wyatt’s wife and the decision on her burial should be left to him.  They can go back to Summit Hall for her funeral once the snows clear.  Everyone agrees to this arrangement and Lucy breathes a sigh of relief.  _Maybe she’s not as bad at this queen thing as she thinks._  

For the next two weeks, Wyatt supervises the engravings on Jessica’s sarcophagus.  He has sent word to Summit Hall to commission a marble statue in her honor.  Lucy, Flynn, Jiya, Denise, Amy and Aevin all take turns taking care of Kassica.  Wyatt tried a few times. Unfortunately, he bursts into tears every time he holds her. 

Once Jessica’s sarcophagus had been decorated to Wyatt’s satisfaction, his drinking became more and more frequent and he became more and more withdrawn.  Many people tried to reach him, including Lucy, but he either won’t or can’t hear it right now.

The tipping point comes a few months later, when Lucy’s water breaks.  The entire castle is abuzz that the queen is in labor.  Abuzz is not the word she would use to describe how she feels right now.  Terrified is definitely more apropos. 

Jiya, Denise and Amy are attending to her and her husband is holding her hand.  They tried to get him to leave once Lucy started screaming out in pain, but he adamantly declared that he will not leave his wife’s side and will kill anyone who tries to physically remove him.  Lucy knows he’s deadly serious.  She’s grateful that he’s here, supporting her through this ordeal.  His presence is calming her, as he affirms that she’s doing a fantastic job and he loves her. 

Jiya agrees that she is happy with Lucy’s progress so far and hopes she continues to devolve along the same path as her labor progresses.  Every contraction brings a new definition of agony.  She’s sweating and can feel her energy starting to wane.  It has been hours upon hours and her baby is still not here yet. 

Finally, Jiya tells Lucy to start pushing.  She is gripping Garcia’s hand with all her might, digging her fingernails into his palm. She pushes and screams with every oncoming contraction.  After her next push, she hears the wail of a newborn and peers down to see a huge smile on Jiya’s face.

“I have good news and bad news, Lucy.”

“What? What’s wrong with my baby?” she gasps.

“Nothing,” Jiya answers, as she holds the baby up slightly.  “You have a healthy, baby girl.  That’s the good news.”

Lucy’s been through a hell of a lot already and suddenly another contraction causes her to scream out.

“That’s the bad news.  You’re not done yet.  Push, Lucy, push,” Jiya instructs.

Jiya hands the baby to Denise and then turns her attention back to Lucy.  Lucy pushes with all her might.  She barely has the energy to hold her own head up at this point.  She needs this to be over already.

Two minutes later, Lucy pushes again and another wail is heard.

“Congratulations.  You also have a son,” Jiya announces.

Lucy smiles and then collapses back onto the birthing bed.  Her eyes roll back into her head and she can hear people screaming her name, but she can’t answer them.  She’s so damn tired.  She’s not sure if it’s the knowledge that her _babies_ are okay, or the fact that they are no longer inside her, but she feels different.  She knows it’s completely up to the gods whether she lives or dies right now.  She’d pray to them if she could utter a single word or coherent thought.  Her sight is fading to black, the sounds of the room are muffled and she has no strength to fight any longer. 

As soon as his daughter is born, he takes his eyes off of Lucy for the first time since her labor began.  _He has another little girl._ Then, Jiya shocks him by telling Lucy to keep pushing and the next thing he knows, there’s two of them.  _Twins.  A girl and a boy._ Both of them have a thick head of black hair.  They are the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, next to their mother of course.

He turns back to Lucy and she slumps into the bed with a thud.  At first, he thinks she’s just exhausted and taking a breather, but then her eyes roll back in her head and he loses his mind.  He’s practically shaking her and receiving no response at all. 

“Lucy!  Lucy!”

He must shout her name a thousand times.  Nothing.  She’s still breathing, but she’s fading fast and he’s panicking.  He has no clue what gives him the idea, but he places both children on Lucy’s chest. 

Lucy starts rambling a moment later.

“My babies.  I want my babies.”

Another minute later, her eyes open and she tilts her head down and smiles.  He exhales loudly, thanking the gods for saving her.  After she convinces Jiya that she’s alright, the other occupants of the room leave the new family a few moments alone. 

He’s holding his daughter and Lucy is holding their son, as they both beam the biggest smiles. 

“What are we going to name them, Lucy?”

“I would like to name our daughter after a great man,” Lucy informs him.

“Uh, okay. Who did you have in mind?”

“He’s a great warrior, a hero and a loving husband.”

He’s still staring back at her with a blank look and she chuckles.

“I’m naming her after her father.  She shall be called Gara,” Lucy advises.

“May I name our son then?” he asks.

Lucy nods and smiles back at him.

“I’m going to name him after his incredibly brave, beautiful mother.  He shall be called Lucian.”

“Lucian, I like it,” she answers, as she peers down at the little boy in her arms.

He has two beautiful, healthy children and his wife and queen is by his side.  He cannot recall being happier.  He knows happiness is always fleeting, but right now, he is grateful the gods have allowed this moment.  Nothing else matters, except his wife, daughter and son. He will be able to deal with anything the throne throws at him, as long as his family is happy and healthy.  And, he will do whatever it takes to make it so.

 

 


	40. The Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy has a little trouble adjusting to her new life. A new foe puts a plan of revenge into motion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I took so long to get this chapter posted. I originally planned for this to be an epilogue, but then decided to do a sequel (possibly a trilogy if I have enough material), so I had to scrap my original plan. I just feel as if there is more story to tell here. The sequel is still in the brainstorming stage, so it will be a little bit before it's ready to be posted.

**_Three Months Later_ **

**_The Three Borders_ **

A vernal vent of air blasts her face as Lucy dives down towards the waterfall.  The ride has been so relaxing, she almost lost her grip on Frostbite at one point.  Spring has finally sprung in the South, yet the North still clings to some vestiges of winter.  The icicles are melting, the snow lingering on scattered patches, as wildflowers poke through the reawakening grass.  Lucy lands Frostbite at the top of the waterfall, but doesn’t dismount quite yet.

She pets the side of Frostbite’s head and he coos as he glances back at his rider.  She thought that after she gave birth, her husband would relax a little bit about the dragonriding, but he hasn’t.  She completely understands that his fear is not irrational, given what she’s been through, but this hovering over her as if she’s made of glass is getting tiresome.  They really need to talk about it…again.

Snow has also been giving her a hard time about riding, although she’s pretty sure it’s because she comes back smelling like dragon instead of wolf.  Now that the snows are melting, she really does need to take him on a proper hunt.  She knows deep down that he’s an animal, but in some ways, he’s become her second child, in addition to pet and guardian. 

Her first child, Kevin, has been spending a lot of time with the twins, helping Lucy as much as possible, while still attending to his duties as the King’s squire.  She’s concerned about him burning the candle at both ends, but knows this last year has been hard on him, so she’s cut him a little slack.  She can’t exactly fault him for throwing himself into his work and family, since she’s always been the same way. 

She herself feels like she’s running on empty.  The sleep deprivation of being a new parent is enough to do that, let alone being Queen in the North.  She’s been trying her best to regroup and rebuild the damage that Emma and the Army of the Dead have caused, while still trying to be vigilant for potential political enemies.  She knows the southern lords are not happy about the kingdom being split in two and she worries they could try to cause trouble for Garcia, or the both of them.  She doesn’t think they’ll try anything right away, but it still concerns her.

Fortunately, she doesn’t have the same concerns for her own people.  First of all, there aren’t many of them left after the Battle for Breath, but they’ve virtually gotten everything they’ve ever wanted; a kingdom of their own. 

She should be happy right now, but she’s not.  She’s just blah.  She has no real reason to be this way, given that she’s happily married and has two beautiful, healthy children, even if the latter doesn’t ever seem to sleep.  The threat has been neutralized, her people are alive and safe, the wounded are healed or healing, her sister is falling in love and both she and Garcia are implementing changes to the realm in incremental fashion. 

Normally, she would go to the Godsgarden to get her head on straight, but even there it has been interruption after interruption.  So, her solution to maintain her current level of sanity is to fly here by herself.  She refers to her “current level of sanity” because she feels like she’s losing it completely.  Those familiar thoughts of failure and doubt creep in through the cracks in her walls.  She feels as if she’s just not “good enough” for anything right now.  A “good enough” mother would be able to feed her own children.  Instead, her body just won’t seem to make enough milk, so she’s had to employ wet-nurses.  A “good enough” wife would be able to make love to her husband with the same passion and intensity as the night they conceived their twins.  Instead, she’s disinterested.  She tries her best to put on a good face when he wants to be amorous with her.  She’s not sure if he’s noticed.  If he has, he hasn’t mentioned it to her.

Amazingly, the only thing she feels even close to being “good enough” at is her uncanny ability to keep the northern lords in line.  Of course, Calhoun has been a most welcome ally in that respect as well.   

She decides to work on one thing at a time.  Right now, it’s all about becoming a better dragonrider.  She tugs on Frostbite’s spines as he perches on the edge of the waterfall.  Lucy pushes down on the spines this time and he jumps.  They freefall for a moment before she quickly pulls back up on the dragon’s spines.  If she hadn’t, she’s not sure Frostbite would’ve pulled up on his own, given that the half-frozen plunge pool might appear as an enticing bath for a frost dragon.

The dragon pulls up on command and she pats its head as a reward.  Every dragonrider bonds with their beast in their own way and Lucy has chosen kindness and reward.  Her bond is getting stronger the more time they spend together, which is another reason why she relishes these little sanity sessions.  She continues to fly and try to clear her mind.  Something is off with her.  She needs to figure out what it is before she screws up her life even more.

**_Rittenfell_ **

He spies Amy staring out over one of the balconies that overlook the broken tower.

“Amy, have you seen Lucy?” Flynn questions.

“Lucy?”

“Yes, your sister, _my wife_.”

She finally turns to face him, the trace of a little giggle still evident.

“My apologies, Your Grace.  Aevin took Kassica out to see the horses.  She just lights up the second she sees them.  It’s beyond adorable,” Amy states as her cheeks redden.

“Iris always liked horses too.  We haven’t introduced the twins to the horses yet, but I suppose they’ll have a similar reaction,” he muses.

“What were you-oh, yeah, right, Lucy.  I haven’t seen her today.  Now that I think about it, I don’t recall seeing her for the last two days,” Amy replies.

“Well, she slept next to me last night, but when I woke up this morning, she wasn’t there.  The twins were with the wet-nurse and that’s the last time anyone has seen her,” he states with concern.

“I haven’t noticed her acting strangely or anything, but Lucy likes to hold it all inside.  Have you noticed anything?”

“I’ve been trying to be patient with her.  I know she’s been through a lot.  It would break most people, but Lucy…”

“Lucy’s special,” Amy answers.

“She’s attempting to hide it, but I know something is up.  I was hoping she’d talk to me about it eventually, but she hasn’t.  Sometimes, it’s like I’m sleeping next to a ghost,” he whispers.

“Garcia…why didn’t you say something to me?” Amy questions with indignation.

He’s taken aback by the use of his given name for a second, but won’t chide her for it.  He knows she loves Lucy just as much as he does. 

“I thought it was just the baby blues at first, but it’s just getting worse.  It’s part of the reason I’m looking for her,” he explains.

“Part of?”

“Yes, the Goran are asking for an audience with the Queen in the North.”

“What’s that all about?” Amy questions.

“Not sure.  Jorsten’s your buddy right?  Ask him.  I need to find Lucy.”

“Let me know when you do.  I’m going to speak to Jorsten and then I will search for my sister as well,” Amy informs him.

He nods his head, then strolls across the balcony back into the castle. 

As she flies past the castle, Frostbite lets out a shriek.  She knows that someone definitely saw her, so she won’t be able to keep this up much longer before her husband most likely seeks her out. 

She flies south towards the River Keynes, listening to a gut instinct that is growing within her.  She crosses over the river, scaring the daylights out of a few local fishermen in the process.

She continues even further south until she comes upon Calhoun’s cabin.  She lands Frostbite in the clearing and dismounts.  She spins on her heels as she feels the presence of someone behind her.

“My Queen, what brings you here?” Calhoun questions.

Perhaps Rufus was correct when he called Calhoun a ghost because she has no idea where he came from.

“I-I’m actually not sure.”

“Hmm,” Calhoun mumbles, as he stares at her intensely.

“I felt drawn here,” Lucy advises.

“Follow me, my Queen.”

Calhoun strides towards the cabin and Lucy follows him inside.  It’s exactly as she thought the inside would be: sparse and simple.  What she didn’t expect was that he would have a library.  And, this was no ordinary library.  There are only a few books, but there are plenty of old scrolls, amulets, talismans and potions lying about.

“What-what is all this?” Lucy asks, as she looks around in wonder.

“A lifetime of knowledge and magic, my Queen,” Calhoun replies with a beaming smile.

Lucy is still in shock as Calhoun shoves aside the errant scrolls and motions for her to take a seat. 

“I believe your magic led you here,” Calhoun informs her.

“My magic?  I’ve never felt it before.  I didn’t even know I had it for most of my life,” Lucy replies.

“Exactly, my Queen.  You should’a been taught when you were a youngin’.  Instead, your parents sought to control you, which only made you suffer needlessly.  Your magic is old and powerful, which is why I’ve always believed in you.  The elementals changed your magic as well, making it unique in ways not even I can predict.  Your children may have inherited this as well, so you will need to know what to look out for.  You cannot bind them or try to control them.  You need to teach them.  But, you _must learn_.”

“How will I learn?  Can you teach me?” Lucy asks.

“I can teach you some things.  The rest…you will need to master yourself.  And, you need to master it quickly. Your power is surging and you need to be able to control it before it causes you or someone else harm,” Calhoun explains.

“Harm?  I don’t want to hurt anyone Calhoun.  I’ve had my full of death.”

“With great power…comes great responsibility, my Queen.  You were chosen by the Gods, stop fighting it!  They will always guide you.  You will prevail because they are the true Gods of this world, not the false idols of the South, the East, or Gallantos.”

“I must confess that I do feel their presence more than I ever have,” Lucy admits.

“Cause your magic has woken,” Calhoun informs her.

He rummages through his cluttered desk, shoving more scrolls aside until he finds a small, leather-bound book.

“Here, take this.  These are basic spells you should be able to master with ease.  You may even be able to improve upon them,” Calhoun states, as he hands her the book.

Lucy takes the book and thanks him.  Then he flies to the other side of his library and opens a small, wooden box.  He pulls out a ring and places it into her palm.

“This ring should be able to absorb any extra magic your body can’t handle.  Wear it only until you can control yourself better,” he warns.

“Thank you so much for everything.  You don’t know how much your friendship has meant to me.”

“It is my pleasure, my Queen,” Calhoun replies with a bow.

She bids Calhoun farewell and flies back to Rittenfell.  When she lands in the Godsgarden, it is empty, but as soon as she dismounts Frostbite, she can hear Snow barking.  She turns her head towards the castle and spies her wolf sprinting out across the fading snow towards her.  A few of her Queen’s guard, as well as Jorsten, march out a moment later.

“Jorsten, what is it?” Lucy questions thinking that something must be wrong if he is searching her out.

“Queen Lucy, I wanted to thank you for letting us stay here while my wounds healed,” Jorsten explains.

“No need to thank me.  We’re allies.  I wouldn’t be a very good one if I threw you out when you weren’t well enough to travel, now would I?”

Jorsten laughs heartily as he nods his head.

“You know the Goran do not kneel to any man, woman, king _or_ queen.  The fact that you have not asked us to kneel is the reason we are and will remain allies.  If you need us, you know where to find us,” Jorsten declares, as he holds his hand out for her to shake.

Lucy shakes his hand and the two of them walk back towards the castle courtyard.  She escorts Jorsten and the remainder of the Goran to the castle gates and bids them farewell.  As she turns back towards the castle, she spies her husband watching her from the second floor balcony.  He doesn’t wave or acknowledge her in any way, doesn’t even give her that besotted look that he usually has when he’s gazing at her.  Instead, he turns on his heels and strolls off the balcony and back inside the castle.  _Fuck._   _This is not good and she knows it._   She knows she’s been aloof lately and that she needs to make it up to him, but right now, she _needs_ to get a grip on her magic so that she can feel normal again.  After speaking with Calhoun, she’s truly afraid that if she doesn’t, she could potentially hurt the man she loves, and that’s the last thing in the world Lucy wants.

She makes her way inside the castle, her hand clasping the satchel Calhoun gave her.  She cannot go to her chamber to practice her magic, because she can be interrupted at any time.  The only place she can truly be alone is the chapel.  Lucy weaves through the corridors, her guards trying in vain to keep up with her.

Relief washes over her when she reaches the chapel and finds it empty.  Her guards remain outside, as they always do when the Queen prays.  Once she shuts the door, she opens the satchel, pulls the ring out and places it upon her finger.  As soon as she does, the white stone turns to black immediately, which startles her.  A moment later, it goes back to white again and a calmness blankets over her.

She sits down on the floor and pulls the book out of the satchel.  She spends a while perusing through it before she selects a spell to try out.  Lighting the brazier seems simple enough and does not require any special ingredients.  She only needs to say the words and believe she can do it.

She’s ignited fire before, but that was when the elementals were inside of her. She’s never done anything like this by herself.  She stands up and walks to one of the unlit braziers in the room.  She places her hands on the top and closes her eyes. 

“Lagro.”

She opens her eyes and huffs loudly as the brazier remains unlit.  She takes another deep breath, but this time leaves her eyes open.

“Lagro!”

Sparks ignite in the brazier and the flames rise a moment later.

She knows it isn’t much, but she’s proud of her accomplishment.  She practices again on a second brazier, and a few more times on some candles until she feels comfortable.  A smile graces her face, as she can feel some of the tension flowing like a river from her body.  The feeling of even the slightest control of her power is quite frankly addictive. 

She turns the pages of the book frantically, again looking for small tasks she thinks she can accomplish.  Each time she masters a skill, the rush becomes more and more exhilarating.  She feels as if she’s floating on a cloud and climaxing at the same time. 

As the hours pass by, Lucy becomes more and more aggressive.  She tries more complicated spells with varying degrees of success. 

At last, she glances out the window and notices that it’s dark now.  She hadn’t realized how much time had passed.  She cleans up the mess she made in the chapel and opens the door into the corridor.  Her guards spring to life and stiffen.  Lucy suspects that she may have just caught them sleeping on the job. 

She strides down the corridor with a renewed confidence.  She knows it’s very late, given the lack of human activity.  As she reaches her chamber door, she notices that Snow is lying at the threshold waiting.  He gets up slowly, tilts his head to the side and stares at her strangely.  The wolf circles her, but then allows her to pass.  She opens the door as quietly as she can and slips inside.

The candles have long been extinguished and the only light comes from the dying embers of the fire.  She tiptoes over to the cribs and peers down at the twins.  Both of them are sleeping soundly.  She’s suddenly overcome with a wave of guilt.  She does need to be there for them more, but what she was doing today was also for their benefit.  She doesn’t want them to grow up and not understand their magic.

She shrugs her dress off and climbs in under the furs. 

“Garcia?” she whispers.

He turns over and pretends to be asleep.  She knows he’s only pretending, but she decides she’s not going to push him at this late hour.  He has every right to be mad at her. 

She lies there on her back unable to sleep for hours.  Finally, she begins to drift off, no longer able to fight the exhaustion.  It feels like only a few minutes later when she hears one of the twins start to cry.  She groans loudly and pulls back the furs.

“Go back to bed, Lucy.  I’ll get her.”

“It’s fine.  I’ll get her,” Lucy answers with a yawn.

Her husband ignores her, strides across the room in two steps and picks their daughter up from her crib.

“I can take care of my own daughter just fine!” Lucy states, as she raises her voice slightly.

“ _Can_ _you_?  Did you take care of her today?” he spits with anger.

Lucy is taken aback by his tone.  She knew he was angry, but this seems to be a new level of anger for him.  Those old doubts and insecurities flood back into her mind, overwhelming her with guilt.  Her legs become shaky and she sits back down on the bed with a thud.  Tears stream down her cheeks, as she brings her hands to her face.  She cannot face her husband right now as she cries uncontrollably.  Shame and guilt bubble out of her as she breaks.

A moment later, she feels her husband sit next to her on the bed. 

“Lucy,” he whispers.

Her hands still cover her eyes.

“Lucy, please look at me.”

She lowers her hands and turns her head meeting his eyes.  To her surprise, there is no anger there, only concern.  He hands their daughter to her and Lucy rocks her gently.  After a few minutes, she finally stops crying.

“I’m sorry that I yelled at you,” he whispers.  “Please, Lucy.  Please talk to me.  Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I-I don’t even know where to begin,” she answers.

“Try the beginning.  This isn’t something that just happened out of the blue.  You’ve been distant for some time now,” he pleads.

She shifts Gara in her arms and pulls her leg onto the bed.

“That ring,” he states, as he turns it on her finger, “where did that come from?”

“I visited with Calhoun today.  He gave it to me,” Lucy explains.

“That old coot?  What did he want?”

“That old coot provided me with a lot of answers today.  Answers I needed to hear, because I thought I was going mad for a while,” she answers, as tears well up in her eyes again.

“Lucy, why didn’t you say something?  We’re not supposed to have secrets between us.  We confide and rely on each other, unless….”

“Unless what?” she asks in a panic.

“Unless your feelings for me have changed,” he answers, as he lowers his head.

She hates that he said that, that he doubts how completely in love with him she truly is.  _How can he think this when she’s been the one who has been lacking in their relationship lately?_   She wants to reach out and tell him how ridiculous this suggestion is, but Gara is still in her arms.  She glances down and notices that her daughter has fallen back asleep, so she gets up and puts her back into her crib. 

She takes a deep breath and turns around.  The fading fire illuminates her husband’s face enough for her to see his tears.  She practically sprints back across the room and flies into his arms.  She cups his face, gazing into his eyes with a renewed passion. 

“My love, my feelings for you are eternal.  There is nothing you could ever do to make me stop loving you.  Never forget that.  This is all my fault.  Please forgive me,” she begs, as she kisses his lips with fervor.

“Lucy, I won’t sweep this under the rug.  Tell me what you’re feeling.”

She explains how she’s been feeling wholly inadequate in most aspects of her life, what Calhoun told her about her magic and her fear for the twins growing up being in the dark like she was. 

“Oh, Lucy.  You are the furthest thing from inadequate in this entire world,” he declares, as he caresses her hair with his hand.

“I don’t feel like it.  Before I met with Calhoun today, I just felt….adrift.”

“Well, the next time you feel adrift, you let me know so I can tether you to the shoreline,” he teases, as his hands stroke the length of her spine.

He kisses her neck, sending a surge of heat throughout her body.  For the first time since she’s given birth, Lucy is becoming _very_ turned on right now.  It gives her hope and confirmation that Calhoun’s theory may indeed be correct.  If her magic is out of control, it will spill over into other aspects of her life, causing her entire person to be thrown out of whack.  Now that she’s getting a handle on some of her magic, her libido seems to be returning to normal as well. 

She grinds her hips against him in response, which elicits a small moan from her husband.  She pulls back slightly and strips her shift from her body.  She kisses him passionately again, while simultaneously tugging at his night clothes.  He grabs ahold of her hands and stops her, as he pulls back just enough to look her in the eyes.

“Lucy, we don’t have to.  This isn’t some sort of duty or chore you’re obligated to perform,” he states with sincerity.

“I think many men would beg to differ on that one,” she responds teasingly.

“I’m not like other men and I never will be.”

“I thank the gods for that every day,” she adds, as she successful gets his night clothes up and over his head.

“Plus, I’d argue you have fulfilled your queenly duties exceedingly well.  A queen’s main duty is to provide the king with heirs.  You’ve given me two in one shot,” he teases.

They both glance back to the twins sleeping soundly in their cribs.  She’s not in a hurry to repeat that whole process just yet, but she wouldn’t mind having more children in the future.  She’s not even sure she _can_ have more children after what her body has been put through.  But that’s something to worry about another day.  Right now, all she wants to do is apologize as thoroughly as possible to her husband.

She turns her head slightly to the side and flicks her wrist in the general direction of the bedside table.  Two candles ignite, producing a more romantic glow in the chamber. 

“How-where…?”

“I’ve learned a few new tricks my love,” Lucy laughs.

She pushes him back onto the bed with force, as she trails kisses from his neck down to his chest.  He grips her tightly in response, yet finds resistance when he tries to flip them over.

“Not so fast.  You just lie back and let me make it all up to you,” Lucy whispers in his ear before she nibbles on the lobe.

He acquiesces to her request, allowing her complete and total control of this encounter.  Lucy pulls out all the stops, kissing, licking and biting in all the spots she knows will drive him wild.  She decides to be bold and try something new.  As she rides him thoroughly, she closes her eyes and concentrates.  She knows she’s taking a risk by trying this, but she can’t help herself.  She flicks her wrist in an upward motion and the two of them begin to float up from the bed. 

Garcia begins to freak out when he no longer feels his back against the bed, but Lucy stifles his protests with another passionate kiss.  She whispers that he needs to let go and trust her, which he does after a few more thrusts and kisses.  They float up even more as their pace increases. 

“Lucy!  This is…this is…”

“Spectacular!” she cries out as she reaches climax.

It takes another two thrusts before he finishes as well.  Lucy gently lowers them back down onto the bed with another flick of her wrist.  Her husband’s eyes are wild with a combination of disbelief and satiation.  She kisses him lazily before they disentangle.  She curls into his side, as he drapes his arm around her, then tugs her even closer.

“Was that a one-time thing or can we do that again?” he asks sheepishly.

“I guess that depends on whether you enjoyed it or not?” she teases.

He growls in response as he flips her onto her back.

“Very much so.”

“Do you forgive me?” she asks in barely audible whisper.

“No more secrets?”

“No more secrets,” Lucy answers with a shake of her head.

“Then, I think I might be able to forgive you,” he replies playfully.

“You _think_?” she questions, as she smacks his arm.

He kisses her lips slowly and softly.

“There’s nothing we can’t overcome together,” he states seriously, as he entwines his fingers into hers.

She chuckles slightly as she gazes at his face.

“Have I told you how much I love you?” Lucy questions.

“Not today and you know my fragile male ego needs to hear it _every, single, day_.”

“I love you, Garcia.”

“I love you more, Lucy.”

**_Somewhere on the continent of Gallantos_ **

A hooded figure weaves their way through the throngs of people, darting down alleys and sprinting across squares.  They reach the street they were looking for, double check that no one is following, then stroll down the street.  The home is the last on the left, number 23.  They take the stairs at a rapid pace and arrive on the top floor a moment later.  They knock on the door in a particular rhythmical pattern, then wait. 

The door opens a second later and the hooded figure steps into the apartment.  They sit at the kitchen table, as a slave girl pours wine into the goblet.  The hooded figure’s employer sits down at the opposite end, wine goblet already in hand. 

“I’m assuming you found something.  I _truly_ hope you didn’t drag me down here to give me a progress report,” the employer states with disdain.

“I found something alright,” the hooded figure replies.  “Multiple somethings.”

The employer’s expression goes from annoyance to intrigue in a flash.

“Well,” the employer growls with a wave of his hands, “out with it already.”

“The dragon horn is a real-life artifact.  It has been documented in ancient eastern works of literature on multiple occasions,” the hooded figure explains.

“I _knew_ it!  Do you have any information on its whereabouts?” the employer requests.

“It’ll cost you.”

“How much?”

“Double.”

The employer laughs heartily, then takes another sip from his goblet.

“You are in no position to make such demands.  I suggest you reconsider,” the employer warns.

“But, I have the information,” the hooded figure states confidently.

Suddenly, they begin to gasp and choke, as the employer pulls a vial from his cloak.

“I also have information, such as…how much time you have before this antidote is rendered completely useless.”

The hooded figure slumps over, as their throat begins to close.  They grab at the inside of their cloak and pull out a scroll.  The employer snatches it from the figure’s hand, as he lays the vial on the table.  The figure plucks the vial off the table, opens it and downs its contents.  He continues to gasp for breath and keels over a second later.

“Pleasure doing business with you.”

The employer nods his head at the slave girl. 

“Come…vengeance awaits.”

She places the pitcher of wine on the table and follows her master out the front door.

 


End file.
